Battlefields
by rhaenirys
Summary: Not all battles are battles of the body, many are battles of the mind, and some...some are of the heart. Legolas, a Prince of the Elves, discovers that not all battles can be won - but some battles are worth losing. From before the Fellowship to after it, this is a tale of love and heartbreak, of laughter and grief, of hope and regret. This is a tale of endurance in an eternal war.
1. Prologue

There was a commotion outside the tent which made Legolas look up. He prayed to the Valar that he was wrong in his suspicions. The angry voice which shouted threats outside was one he never hoped to hear, not here, not now. Yet it seemed that the powers hated him, for whatever reason. He was the Prince of the Greenwood, one of the Nine Walkers who had saved Middle Earth. What had he done do deserve this?

The tent flap was thrown open, and an Elven lady marched in, soldiers trying to stop her advance, begging her to calm down. But she would not listen. She strode in, ignoring all else in the tent, angry brown eyes locked onto Legolas' fearful blue ones. A nervous laugh bubbled from his throat. He was _Thranduillion_ , and by Elbereth he was not supposed to be this scared. Not even a Nazgul instilled as much fear as the _elleth_ striding in did.

In the few seconds in took for her to reach him, Legolas had stood up from the ground, trying to meet her proudly. She paused in her steps when he was within her arms' reach, and to his credit, Legolas managed to not squirm under her fiery gaze.

Suddenly she turned to Aragorn who had been sitting next to him, who now looked at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "He is unhurt?" she demanded. When Aragorn only gaped at her, her voice turned dangerous. "Is he _unhurt_?"

"Y-yes, my Lady. He is unhurt," Aragorn managed to stammer out.

As soon as those words were out, _SLAP!_ Her hand swung out, leaving an angry, red handprint on Legolas' smooth skin. He flinched, his hand rubbing the stinging flesh when her other hand swung to hit his other cheek.

"HOW DARE YOU?" she yelled at him. Then with a venomous whisper, " _do that again, you idiot, and you will pay for it with your life. I will strangle you with my bare hands and enjoy every second of it._ "

He knew that she was not lying, and it made him want to run for his life. It left Legolas to wonder how he, the mighty Prince of his people, could end up cowering before this Elven woman.

Ah, yes, there was a story behind that, one he would never change, even if he could.


	2. Approach

Disclaimer: None of the recognisable characters are mine. Only borrowing them.

I hope you enjoy the story, I'll try to post regularly. Maybe every three days.

* * *

Legolas wanted to rest. He wondered how his father could stand these arduous council meetings every single day. There was really no point, he knew that they would only end up debating about the best strategy to get rid of the spiders which had begun appearing at the Southern edges of the forest, near the old fortress, and that they would not get to a suitable solution. After all, how could these elves know about what it really was like out there? Yes, there were captains of the army in the room, but most of the council members were only that. Councillors, politicians, who sought to gain power in this time of peace. They did not know what truly happened outside the safe confines of the Elvenking's halls.

As Legolas glanced at his father, whose grey eyes resembled storm clouds, he wondered if it was still a time of peace or not.

It had been six centuries since his mother had died, waging war against the Kingdom of Angmar, since his father had fought dragons and returned a hollow person. Legolas remembered when the decimated army had come back, for he had lost both his parents that day. Thranduil had become ice, and though Legolas loved him still, he found it hard to have a conversation with his father.

" – don't you think so, Legolas?" asked his second in command, Erthor.

Pushing back his grim thoughts, Legolas winced. "Forgive me, could you please repeat your question?" He saw his father's eyes flicker in disappointment? Or was it amusement? And Erthor smirked knowing that his Prince was desperate for the meeting to end.

"I said, the spiders grow bolder, but their number are still few. We must fortify our borders and launch and attack before they breed."

He was about to reply when a soldier burst into the room, red blood splattered across his tunic, struggling to catch his breath. "For-forgive me y-your majesties. I ran as fast as possible. S-spiders. At the Old Forest Road. There w-were more than twenty, milord. W-was sent back by Commander Celegorm. Please. They are d-dying – " And he coughed, blood spilling from his mouth, before his legs buckled. Immediately, Legolas jumped from his seat, rushing to catch the warrior, his fingers seeking a pulse on the warrior's neck. " _Get the healers!_ " he shouted at the room. "Erthor, ready my horse, get the contingent ready in fifteen minutes. _Go!_ "

Everyone who had at first only sat and stared suddenly rushed into action. The councillors began shouting at each other, Erthor ran from the room, shouting at a guard to " _fetch the healers!_ " and then Thranduil stood up.

" _Enough!_ _Silence,_ all of you! Prince Legolas, I forbid you to leave. You will stay here in the stronghold and let Erthor lead the forces. This meeting is over. Leave, all of you. We will meet again when the spiders at the Old Forest Road have been destroyed."

By that time, the healers had already poured in, and now they took the warrior in Legolas's arms, and everyone began leaving the room. That is, everyone but Legolas and Thranduil.

"I _will_ go, my Lord. You cannot stop me."

"I can, and I command you to stay here, Legolas."

"Why? You would have me cower inside these halls like a coward?"

"I would have you _safe!_ "

"Are we safe, _Adar?_ Are we? Those spiders keep coming, there are rumours that the orcs in the mountains are moving, the forest grows darker. And if we do not lead them, then who will? If we don't sacrifice our lives for them, what reason do they have to sacrifice theirs for ours?"

"You know _nothing!_ If I can keep you safe, then by the Valar, I _will_. If there is another alternative to keep you from harm, I will take it."

"We do not _have_ such liberties! You taught me that! We are royalty, it is our duty to lead them, and since the moment I was born, you told me that I had to sacrifice my desires for the kingdom! And I _will_ sacrifice my desire to live for the good of the kingdom instead of hiding behind these walls like you!" There was silence and Legolas gasped as he realised what he had just said, and he took a step backwards.

"Stubborn, insolent _child_ ," Thranduil spat out, and without realising it he had struck Legolas in the cheek. He saw the fear in his son's eyes and everything came crashing down all around him. The fear of losing his only child, the feeling that everything was beyond his power, the despair of seeing his people die, and he turned away from the face that reminded him so much of his lost wife.

Legolas felt the sting left by his father's hand, saw him turn away, and was about to leave when his father murmured softly, "yes, Legolas, I taught you that, but I forgot to teach you that we are still Elves, and our greatest weakness are our hearts, destined to lose in all the battles it fights. I would have you safe and free from the hurts of the world, from the pain of mortality. But what the heart desires, the mind cannot allow. Go, Legolas, lead our people, and return safely."

* * *

"What news from the Greenwood, _Ada_?" Elladan asked his father who was reading a missive from Iorveldir, the Master healer of the Woods.

"They need help. King Thranduil would flay Iorveldir if he knew that he had sent this plea, but new spiders with deadlier poisons have attacked them. He does not know if he can find the cure in time. The bird which delivered this was carrying a vial of the victim's blood," Elrond said as he massaged his temples. These tidings were disturbing, to say the least.

"Let Elrohir and I go, father, we may be of help there."

"No, Elladan, Thranduil still holds a grudge against the Noldor. All we can do is to try make a cure here, and hope that the wings of the bird are swift enough to carry it back."

"But, _Ada_ , Iorveldir asks for one of our healers there," said Elladan, who had taken the parchment out of his father's hands, "and he sounds desperate."

"We can't risk a civil war, _ion nin_. Thranduil is changed, and I fear what has become of him since the dragonfire."

"We can't let an elf die either, _Ada_."

"What would you have me do? Send you and Elrohir into a danger unknown?"

"Or you could send me, _hir nin_." Both father and son whipped their heads towards the door where Idhthrael stood. She continued, unfazed by their surprise. "I am an elf of the Greenwood, and I am ready to return there."

"No, Idhthrael, you will fade if you return," Elladan begged.

"The past is in the past, Elladan, and I have defeated that grief. It has been centuries, and I am no longer a child."

"You have become a sister to me, Idhthrael, if you faded, I could never forgive myself. I know you still wake in the early hours of the day, unable to sleep for the memories which play in your dreams."

But Idhthrael ignored him and spoke to Elrond, " _hir nin_ , do you give me permission to return to my homeland?"

"Idhthrael," Elrond murmured her name. "I would hate to see you leave." He walked to the window and stared out of it. "But your fate is not here, _penneth nin_. Return if you will, to the Greenwood. However, beware of what you will find there. Beware, for though your aim is true and your mind is sharp, in battles of the heart you are not armed. You will lose much, yet you will save many." He faced her now, blue eyes piercing brown ones. "Have caution, for the woods will soon turn not into a glorious battlefield, but into a field of slaughter, and all the joy you find there will be mingled with sorrow."

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	3. Arrive

**yasminasfeir1 -** thank you for your review! Here's an update! Hope you enjoy it

 **Guest** \- thanks, glad that you enjoyed it, and thanks for reviewing!

Now to the story

* * *

Idhthrael rode with all haste across the plains hoping to reach Greenwood before a week had passed. She had arranged with Lord Elrond that her belongings would be sent to the Elvenking's halls only after she had been granted permission to stay. The Wood Elves had grown wary of strangers, and Idhthrael hoped that she would be given entry before it was too late for the injured elf. In truth, Lord Elrond's words had shaken her. Old memories came back to haunt her mind and again he prayed that they would leave. Images of – no. She refused to think about it.

" _Noro lim,_ Arien, _noro lim,_ " she murmured to her horse as the sun dipped below the horizon.

* * *

Legolas felt sick. It had been a week since he had left the palace. The spiders had been defeated, yet the price was heavy. A third of his contingent were lying bloody upon the ground, and while he had been prepared for death, nothing could ever prepare him for this. To see friends and comrades slaughtered is never something you become used to.

"How many of you can still ride?" he asked. Several hands were raised, but none had come out unscathed. Legolas himself was sporting a gash in his abdomen which he had so far managed to hide from Erthor. "Those who cannot ride, ride with those who can." For a second he paused, eyes darkening. "Leave the dead. If fate smiles upon us, we may bring them back for a proper burial. For now, we must leave quickly."

"Legolas!" Erthor called out as he approached the Prince. "Legolas you are pale."

"I am _fine_ ," he insisted.

"Your father told me when I became your second that I should never believe you when you say that," came the retort.

"Ah, but my father is not here. And there are those who must come before me." He glanced quickly around the clearing and said, "Nerdanel, can you ride?" The nearby _elleth_ who was struggling to stand shook her head miserably. Legolas deftly left Erthor to help her mount his horse. "You do not mind riding with me, my lady?" he asked softly.

Behind him he heard Erthor snort. No lady minded riding with him, in fact, it was their dream. He usually would have teased Legolas for it, but he held himself in check. Now was not the time.

They now rode back to the palace, Erthor eyeing the Prince suspiciously. He should never have let him ride alone with an injured elf, but he understood. The circumstances were dire. When they got back to the palace, however, Erthor would drag Legolas by his pointy ears to the healing halls. Legolas hid his wounds very well, and Erthor had learned to see through the façade of strength Legolas always tried to maintain. The darkness of his blue eyes, the slight crease on his forehead, the way he winced imperceptibly as Nerdanel held onto his abdomen for support. There was no doubt that Legolas was injured.

For Legolas, the ride back to the palace was utter agony. He knew how much an injured abdomen hurt, how much blood loss it took to make him this dizzy, but the facts didn't line up. There was something more to this. His neck itched, and as he reached back to scratch it, he felt it. Two puncture wounds. _Ai, Elbereth!_ he cursed. A spider bite. Did the Valar really hate him that much? He urged his horse to go faster even as his vision began to blur. Holding onto the last tatters of consciousness, Legolas saw the palace gates, saw his father standing inside the palace. He let himself feel relief coursing through his body. They were safe. He had brought them back home.

With that thought, he let go, the world around him fading into black.

Thranduil was just finished seeing to a visitor from Imladris when he saw horses galloping at breakneck speed towards the gates. _Legolas_. He walked as fast as possible while still appearing dignified, feeling the dark foreboding that had been on the edge of his mind returning. He saw as Legolas' horse rushed in, saw his son's eyes slide back into his head, body slackening. He saw Erthor vaulting off his horse, catching Legolas before he fell to the ground, even as he himself ran to do the same.

With dread, Thranduil shifted back Legolas' hair to reveal the back of his neck, and sure enough, there were marks. " _Healers!_ " he shouted at the stunned guards. "Send for them _now!_ Bring stretchers, we must move them inside," snapped Thranduil, every inch a formidable King.

But when the guards had moved to do his bidding, Erthor saw the shoulders slump, the hardness of Thranduil's eyes faded. "Hold on, _ion nin_. Don't leave me." Then the King lifted his son from Erthor's hold and carried Legolas into the healing wards himself as he prayed to the Valar.

* * *

 _Earlier that day…_

Idhthrael slowed down her horse, Arien, as she saw the looming trees of Greenwood. The air was thick with a sense of dread, and the trees sang a sorrowful song. Fiddling with the pendant on her neck, she hoped that she was not too late.

"Halt! Who goes there?" a voice from the canopy called out to her.

" _Suilad, mellon nin. Im Idhthrael Adramiriel o Eryn Galen._ "

"We have not heard the name Adramir since the days when the Queen graced these woods, and your name is unknown to us. State your business, and quickly, lest our patience grows thin and our wariness overcome us."

"Lord Elrond sent me. He had reason to believe that Greenwood is in need of help, and he thought it best to send one who was born in these lands," Idhthrael answered to the leaves, spotting the glint of an arrowhead.

"Prove that you mean no harm."

Carefully, Idhthrael unhooked the necklace she wore, and held it aloft for the hidden sentinels to see. "King Thranduil gave me this on the day I left these woods. A crystallised drop from the Enchanted River, given to guard me from grief. Lead me now to the King's halls, for a life hangs in the balance and I mean to save it."

Three elves landed on the forest floor, bowing to her. "My lady, forgive us the harsh words, for the world grows dark and we must be wary or we would die. Come, your horse must be tired. Use one of ours, and Talathion will guide you to the palace," said an aurburn haired elf. Beside him a dark haired elf smiled at Idhthrael. "I am Talathion, have no fear. Your horse will be taken care of. We have not heard of an injured elf, but if your words are true, we must ride with all haste."

"Indeed they are. Please, I cannot delay any longer."

"Then let us not, my lady," Talathion said, handing her the reins of a horse that had been hidden from sight.

Together they galloped through the forest, Idhthrael staying close to her guide, praying for her memories to stay far away from her. For the first time in centuries, she wished she had let the Enchanted River take away those times of tragedy.

"We are almost there, my lady!" shouted Talathion two hours later. Their horses were tiring, Idhthrael herself felt like collapsing from lack of rest in the past days. She kept going on until – _there!_ – she spotted the magnificent gates.

Everything was a blur from then. Somehow she had gotten off her horse, gone through many winding corridors breathlessly, until Idhthrael found herself facing another set of breath-taking doors. She heard guards announcing her name, and the doors opened. At first, she had expected a throne room, but now she realised she was in the King's private study, for the hour was early, and the King had just risen.

"Your majesty," Idhthrael breathed out. "Forgive me for my abrupt arrival." She was struck by how powerful he looked, how ancient, dangerous and forbidding his sharp features were. And yet he was handsome too, she decided. Handsome, and… sad? There was an emptiness in those fearsome eyes now analysing her very being.

"How did Elrond know of our need? What business does he have with our realm?" Thranduil demanded, unwilling to barter pleasantries. He had not been untimely woken up by this lady's arrival because a dream, a nightmare, had kept him awake.

"He received word from your Healer, Iorveldir, your highness, asking for help."

"Did he? And why did he send _you_?" the King asked, his voice cutting the air.

"I was born here, I volunteered. He has trained me for centuries in the arts of healing, and I wished to return here so that I may help the kingdom where I came from."

"Perhaps. The elf who returned here a week ago has nearly passed into Mandos. Help, if you will, Idhthrael Adramiriel, though I advise you to leave when your work is done."

"For what reason, your majesty? I-I don't mean to question you, yet I would stay here if I could, where my skills are needed."

"The Wood Elves have never required help from the Noldor," Thranduil said dangerously, "but I will not let our pride doom us. I remember you, an elfling, so distraught that I gave you my blessing. A drop of water from the river my father enchanted. Have you used it yet?"

"No, my lord. I still wear it, and it gave me safe passage here."

"The world grows dark, Idhthrael, and many wars lie ahead of us. We must choose our battles wisely." Then Thranduil turned away from Idhthrael, walking to the balcony of the room eyes roaming the trees for a glimpse of something. Then he said, "Talathion, take her to the healing wards. Her skills will be needed soon."

* * *

 _Noro lim -_ ride hard

 _elleth_ \- female elf

 _Suilad, mellon nin. Im Idhthrael Adramiriel o Eryn Galen - Greetings, my friend. I am Idhthrael daughter of Adramir of Greenwood the Great_

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 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	4. Cures and Delirium

Since I'm on holiday, with nothing much to do, I should be able to post every day. Hopefully. Thanks to the reviewers. There's only three so far but you guys seriously made my day :)

 **Mii3.1415926 -** woah, thanks for your review! I'm really glad you like it. I hope this chapter is to your liking too. I'm trying to capture all the sides of Legolas. He's such an intricate character.

 **jshaw0624 -** here's more!

 **yasminasfeir1 -** thanks, glad you liked it :D

And now to the story.

* * *

Idhthrael had just been introduced to Iorveldir when a commotion arose in the halls. She was shown to the nameless elf who lay so still upon one of the beds, then the Healer left. It was far from strange seeing an injured elf. The sons of Elrond got themselves injured often enough for her to be used to seeing the muted glow of a sick elf, but this warrior was nearly too far gone for anyone to help him. Nearly. She had not been nicknamed the second daughter of Elrond for naught, and her eyes scanned the room for a herb cabinet.

Before leaving Rivendell she had analysed the blood sample, and figured out what the Greenwood elves had missed in their efforts. She took _athelas_ , powdered coneflowers, sage leaves, chamomile and slippery elm. Boiling some water, ignoring the chaos that buzzed around her, she mixed the ingredients she had taken. The colour of the potion was a dark brown. That was the wrong colour. Something was missing from it. She needed something to make the poison, the Shadow, in the body disappear, as if it… as if it forgot what it was supposed to be doing.

" _Oh!_ " she exclaimed. "Oh that is _brilliant!_ "

"Idhthrael!" Iorveldir shouted. "I don't care what's so brilliant, help us out here!"

"Oh but you _do_ care," she said, spinning to face him in joy. But when she saw him, he had a blond elf in his hands, blood staining the pale elf's tunics. Potion forgotten, she rushed to him, helping him lay the elf on an empty bed. "The wound is infected."

"And he was bitten by a spider," said another voice.

"My King," Idhthrael said, tipping her head in respect. "I did not look for you to be here."

"Indeed, I must leave, though my heart bids me stay. Take care of him Iorveldir. If anything happens, find me immediately," Thranduil said, voice hollow.

Idhthrael, however, did not hear that part of the King's words, already busy unbuttoning the injured elf's cumbersome tunic. She took his pulse, lips pursed. "He's fading. He's slipping away faster than the other elf."

"There are others coming in," Iorveldir told all the healers in the room. "Many are in a similar state." Then he took the glass bottle Idhthrael had been working with and asked, "what is this?"

"A cure," she answered distractedly. "Not completed yet. But it won't work for this elf. The poison in the blood is too strong and he is far too weak."

"How can you tell?"

"I can feel the evil working through his veins. Do you have water from the Enchanted River? Or any herb that makes you forget?"

"We keep stock of the River water. Why?"

"Put in one drop inside the concoction and give it to the elf there. It should cure the spider's poison. But for this elf we need something stronger," Idhthrael said.

"There is nothing stronger than the River water for forgetfulness."

"There is this," she replied, for the second time unhooking her necklace. The teardrop pendant glimmered in the sunlight, like a swirling mist. "Oropher King was the one to enchant it, and it is a cure for Grief."

Iorveldir's eyes widened. "But it is yours, my lady, for a reason."

"There are some things worth dying for, my lord."

"You do not even know who he is, how can you decide if he is worth it?"

"The King himself brought him here. I found his fading _fea_ and I know he was meant to endure more. Besides, I am a healer. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"He is Prince Legolas _Thranduillion_ , my lady, I would save him if I could, and yet your blood will be on our hands."

Idhthrael smiled. "There will be no blood, my lord, and I have endured my Grief for so long, that I do believe I can survive it. I am not so fragile as you think." Then she told him the ingredients he needed to mix for the cure, and she held the Prince's hand, letting her energy flow into his veins. If indeed he was the Prince, then he was no stranger to her. The twins of Rivendell often told her of him, but she had never been impressed by their stories. If he was a Master in Archery, she was too, if he had Mastered the Sword and the Twin Swords, then she had too. If he expected her to swoon like every maiden seemed to do when they saw him, then he would be sorely disappointed. While he had a finely chiselled face, she could not stand haughtiness or arrogance, and her past could not reconcile with the idea of falling for one who had let her parents die.

But no, she could not think about that, not now when she was supposed to be saving his life. Knowing who he was changed little. He was a patient, and it was her duty as a healer to do everything to save his life. So she let her life force continue to work around the Prince's heart, willing it to keep beating, wishing that Iorveldir didn't take so long to work.

Suddenly Idhthrael gasped as she saw his eyes flutter open. His lips were moving, barely making a sound, yet she heard the whispered words nonetheless. "Varda Elentari? _Hiril nin? Mi van me?_ "

" _Sidh, Ernil Laiqualasse. Im u-Varda Elentari. Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad._ "

His eyes met hers and they glazed over before falling shut once more. She was tempted to withdraw her strength, but his heart still faltered, so she let power drain from her. The healing ward had become crowded, and if she had been more aware, Idhthrael would have seen that her cure worked.

Suddenly she felt someone shake her gently. It shocked her, making the connection with the Prince snap. Iorveldir was holding a cup of shimmering blue liquid. "The cure, my lady."

"Thank you."

Together they fed the Prince his antidote, and Iorveldir noticed that the Prince was not as pale as before. "What happened?"

Idhthrael smiled. "I gave him my strength, he woke up a bit. He should be fine in a few days. How is everyone else?"

"But _you_ aren't fine, Idhthrael!" Iorveldir all but snapped at her.

"I've not given more strength than I could. I know my limits."

Iorveldir would have said more if Erthor had not limped over to the Prince's side, demanding to know his condition. Idhthrael smiled, telling the soldier that he was fine, that a few days of bedrest would be enough to heal him now that he had the antidote.

With that, she begged permission to leave so that she might inform the King of his son's recovery.

"Who is she?" asked Erthor, curious.

The Master healer smiled to himself. "Our saving grace, perhaps."

* * *

Legolas felt the darkness around him lessen. He could feel his spirit gaining enough strength to break through this prison which held him. His memories were jumbled, he recalled riding hard towards the palace, seeing his father, and then… meeting a Valar? Forcing his uncooperative eyes to open, his vision swam into focus. White ceiling, many beds, Erthor slumped in a chair beside him. Of course, what had he expected? He was in the healing wards.

He tried shifting so that he could sit upright, but pain lanced through his abdomen. Biting his lip in order to not wake his friend up, he tried again. Legolas was just about to succeed when he heard a chuckle.

" _Ion nin_ , that really isn't the best thing to do, you know?"

" _Ada_ ," he breathed in reply as his father propped up some pillows so he could sit comfortably. "How long?"

"Three days. That healer worked a miracle on you."

"Iorveldir?"

"No, a new healer."

"Who?"

But Thranduil ignored his question. "I was worried, _ion nin_. I did not want our last conversation to be a fight, and I had yet to apologise for it."

"There is naught to apologise for, _Ada_. You have not been the best of fathers, but I know the reason behind your words."

Thranduil chuckled again. " _Ai, tithen las_ , if only your mother were here right now, if only times of peace could have lasted longer." Just then Erthor shifted awake. "Ah, Erthor is awake. Good. I'm afraid duty calls again, _ion nin_ , and I must leave you." Placing a kiss on Legolas' forehead, the King strode out of the room, leaving the two friends alone.

After a while, Erthor stood up and began pacing the room. "You don't do that Legolas. If she hadn't come here, if Iorveldir had not sent that letter, if King Oropher had not –"

"I am alive, Erthor, so all is well. I don't know the connection of that with my grandfather, but I would like to know who healed me."

Erthor sent a glare at Legolas. "It's like you get into trouble on purpose!"

"I assure you, _mellon nin_ , that I do not seek trouble."

"You do nothing to avoid it."

"At least I make the effort to bring you along."

"What does that mean?"

"Ever since you began courting Almarea you have been a boring old swot."

"Your father wouldn't approve of your language, _Ernil nin_."

Legolas laughed. "But it is true. You have had less taste for adventures of late, and I blame it on that lady of yours. Although, she is beautiful and you do deserve her."

That seemed to pacify Erthor, yet his eyes gleamed of mischief. "I know of something your father would approve. What if we found you your own lady? If you had reason to stay here, perhaps you would be less reckless?"

Legolas, knowing that smacking a pillow in his face would only serve to damage his own health more than Erthor's, only sent one of his infamous glares. Which, of course, only set the other elf into laughter.

Erthor, however, did not become Legolas' second because he was a fool. He saw that flicker in Legolas' eyes when he had mentioned a lady for the Prince, and the Prince's curiosity about who had healed him.

" _Oh!_ " he exclaimed. "Our Prince is in _love!_ "

" _Erthor!_ " Legolas prostested. "I am _not_ in love!"

"She _was_ beautiful, I don't blame you, _mellon nin_."

"This is why I wonder how you ever became my friend."

"Come, tell me, Legolas, of all the maidens in Middle Earth ready to fall at your feet, why her? I thought you had something going on with Nerdanel the other day."

"I am _not_ in love!" Legolas exclaimed again, desperately wishing it were true. But her face swam in his mind's eye again, how he thought he had seen the Queen of the Valinor. He was determined to find her, even if Erthor's incessant teasing was the price for it.

* * *

 _Hiril nin? Mi van me? -_ my lady? Where am I?

 _Sidh, Ernil Laiqualasse. Im u-Varda Elentari. Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad. -_ peace, Prince Legolas. I am not Varda Elentari. Listen to my voice, come back to the light.

 _ion nin -_ my son

 _tithen las_ \- little leaf

 _mellon nin_ \- my friend

 _Ernil nin_ \- my Prince

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 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	5. Refusals

**yasminasfeir1** and **jshaw0624** \- thanks for your constant reviews. Really, they mean a lot. Here's another chapter for you guys. I have nothing to do and this story has been in my mind for ages, so unless something comes up I should be able to update really quickly. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Idhthrael heaved her books into the shelves. The King had granted her an abandoned underground smithy on the outskirts of the palace ground. It was large, and though rather dusty, already had shelves enough to fit the books an entourage of elves from Rivendell had brought yesterday. After sending the swiftest bird to inform Lord Elrond that the King had allowed her to stay, she had spent hours in council with the King, showing him the rudimentary designs she had brought along in her little bundle of parchment. She was pleased that the King revised his permission for her to stay. He added the permission to work with both the healers and the army in her projects. In truth she was no healer, she was no warrior. She was an inventor, and it was her wish to build tools to help the elves fight the darkness. It had scarcely been a week since she had arrived in Greenwood, yet she felt happy there. Elrond's warnings slipped from her mind, and as she finished furnishing the smithy that was now both her residence and her laboratory, Idhthrael smiled.

Now, as long as nobody would find her there, everything was per – _knock! Knock!_ The trapdoor leading outside rattled, and Idhthrael fought the urged to slam her head onto the wall. "Who is it?" she gritted out.

"I am Legolas, my lady."

Resolutely, Idhthrael refused to open the trapdoor. He was no longer a patient, she had no obligation to be gentle. "Just because you don't use your title, I know full well who you are, _Prince_."

"I just wanted to thank you," came the voice from above.

"I don't care," she shouted back, shifting around some of the volumes on her shelf.

"It is unbecoming of a lady to refuse her prince entry, you know."

That set her off. She marched up the stairs leading to the trapdoor and abruptly slammed it open, hitting the Prince's chin quite hard in the process.

"Oh, forgive me, prince," she said in faux guilt. Then she looked at his wide eyes, his open mouth. "I believe it is unbecoming for a prince to gape so openly at a lady."

"I believe it is unbecoming of _anyone_ to slam a door in someone's face."

"I believe that you have lost the point of your visit, and that you are wasting my time."

"I had meant to thank you for saving my life, Lady Idhthrael, and to ask if you would be my partner for the feast tonight."

Idhthrael's face scrunched up in disgust, her reply frosty. "I refuse your kind offer. I have no desire to be branded as a whore upon my arrival, and if I do choose to go to the feast, I would rather go without an escort than to be forced to be in your company."

Legolas looked surprised, much to Idhthrael's delight. "What gives you those thoughts, my Lady? I have the most respectable intents, and truly, it was a favour for your efforts in bringing me back here."

"I know that you have had many affairs, I know that maidens practically fall at your feet, I know that I am hardly anything when compared with the ladies of the court. What reason do you have to try and escort me to a feast if not for the later hours? You may be handsome, but I am not so empty minded as the other ladies you take to bed. It only proves your vanity and arrogance to me. Now, I believe your friend there is searching for you. Good bye, prince."

And Idhthrael slammed the trapdoor shut, leaving Legolas alone.

* * *

Legolas felt as if he had been slapped, but he knew that if Erthor found him here, he would be badgered relentlessly until he told every bit of the conversation. So Legolas dashed off to the only place where he would be safe. His room. There he could lock the doors and pretend that he was busy preparing himself.

He laid in bed for hours, smiling. It had taken quite some time to wheedle the information about his healer from his father, and more time to convince the healers that he was ready to step foot out of the ward without assistance. The effort had been worth it though, because the Queen he had seen in his delirious state was just as beautiful in real life. Something about the fire which burned in those brown eyes, the angry, thin lips, the waves of hair which cascaded until her slender hips was absolutely captivating.

But then he remembered the accusations she had hurled at him. Was it really that bad that he had gone through so many affairs? His father had pestered him to find a wife, it was an effort in his part to appease him. There were many beautiful maidens in the court, and Legolas smiled at the truth of Idhthrael's words. They were empty minded. He found himself bored by the talk of how beautiful the flowers were, how wonderful his aim was, how stunning he looked in his paintings. Legolas simply hated those paintings of himself.

He looked at the outfit the maids had set out on his dressing table. Tonight's feast was a feast of victory, a feast to honour the dead. There was his circlet too in front of the mirror, and Legolas wondered what Idhthrael would say if she saw him wearing it. She would probably hurl insults and call him a spoiled, arrogant princeling. Legolas smiled ruefully at that thought.

As the Prince, though, he would have to find a Lady to escort. Legolas cast his mind out for someone, the image of Idhthrael's beautifully angry face making it difficult for him to consider other maidens. In the end he thought of Nerdanel. She was sweet enough, and less vain than the ladies of the court.

So Legolas bounded out of his room, pushing thoughts of those brown eyes away from his head as he sought out Nerdanel.

* * *

Meanwhile, Idhthrael was pacing in her quarters. She had been invited by the King to attend the feast, and while it had been rude for her to refuse the King so openly, especially since she was basically a stranger in these lands, she did not regret it. She simply did not care to wear dresses or decorate her hair. In Imladris, she would wear her riding boots to feasts, although several hours of debating with Lord Elrond usually convinced her to wear a dress, in exchange for something. There was no one here to do that, and it _had_ been quite amusing to see the King's eyes blink imperceptibly in shock. The King told her, though, that should she change her mind, she was most welcome to the feast. Now she considered going just to spite the Prince.

Idhthrael really did not mean to be so harsh to him, but memories had been stirred, and the absence of the necklace she usually wore made her feel hollow. It made her remember her parents. Perhaps she would go to the feast to drink enough wine that it would make her forget.

Although her quarters were underground, the roots of the trees which made its roof allowed sunlight to filter in. The light was slowly dimming, and Idhthrael knew she would have to make her decision soon. Going to the unopened box which she knew contained clothes, she rummaged through it, smiling wryly. Lord Elrond had placed some of Arwen's dresses inside, something she knew was no mere coincidence.

They were beautiful, and she would have to thank both Lord Elrond and Arwen later. For now though… perhaps she really would go to the feast. The ladies of the court had shot her withering glares whenever she passed them, and they seemed delighted to talk about her and her mysterious past. _Well_ , Idhthrael thought, _let us give them something to talk about then_.

Picking out a simple, sleeveless dark blue dress which barely reached her knees, she put it on, and took out pants of a matching colour. She'd be damned before she let them think she was flaunting her body, but she hated how dresses restricted her movements. Then she went through the box again to find the velvety black cloak the twins had given her before she left Rivendell. It made her feel safe.

Finally, she tied her hair in a half ponytail, not caring enough to braid it. Idhthrael didn't have a mirror, but she did not care much. She was going to this party for _herself_. It was not to appease the King or to charm the Prince. It was because she wanted to simply have a good time. Normally, Idhthrael didn't like feasts, yet she remembered those times when she would dance with her father while her mother played music. Thoughts of her parents hurt, especially now that she was back in the place where it all happened. But this was also the place where she had felt such _joy_ , and she wanted to feel it again.

Unbidden, Elrond's words rang in her head. _All the joy you find there will be mingled with sorrow_. Idhthrael knew that he had not been lying. The gift of foresight ran strong in the bloodline of Luthien and Beren, but it did not mean that you had to accept your future meekly. The tides of time were not set in stone, and Idhthrael refused to let anyone rule her fate. Angrily tightening the straps of her riding boots, making sure her knives were still within them, she decided that if there was sorrow, then let it come, because it was no stranger to her.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	6. Feasting

**yasminasfeir1** \- again, thank you for reviewing!

Here's another chapter :)

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Nerdanel was positively glowing, Legolas decided. The healers had allowed her to leave the wards for this feast, with strict instructions that neither of them were to have any wine, and that she would check in with them in the morning. She had chosen a soft pink dress with quite a deep hemline that made her auburn hair stand out more. As was custom, Legolas had braided a crown of flowers into her flowing locks, and she took his arm as he led her to the dais constructed in the clearing.

There were lanterns hung about, music was already playing, elves had filled the glade. It was rather far from the palace, but they deemed it safe enough for this feast. A herald announced his arrival, and all the elves, except his father, stood in respect. Nerdanel gripped his hand tighter. He smiled as they took their seats and his father stood to announce the beginning of the feast.

While Nerdanel was distracted by an elf serving her food, Thranduil leaned towards his son, whispering softly. "I thought you were vying for another maiden."

"Hush, _Ada_ ," Legolas hissed back, the tips of his ears turning slightly red.

"Ah, rejection. I am sure your lady there can make you forget about it."

" _Ada!_ " Legolas protested, quickly turning away, grateful that the serving elf had come to him. He heard his father laugh softly. It was nice to hear that his father's mood was lighter tonight, even if the teasing was not as welcome.

Legolas spotted Erthor and Almarea conversing with a younger warrior and wished that he could be with them. Decorum insisted, however, that he sit here with his father and boring councilors for some time before he was allowed to join the fray. Hopefully he was not wrong about Nerdanel, but even she seemed to be unable to speak in his presence. She had gone awfully quiet ever since he praised her beauty.

In times like this, Legolas felt unbelievably lonely. He was not one to feel sorry for himself, but as he saw Almarea's face light up at a joke Erthor was telling her, how Erthor's own eyes were bright and happy, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Truly, there was no one happier for them than he was, and yet Legolas wished so much he had someone like that in his life. It was a tiring thing, all those empty smiles from people who wanted his favour only because he was a prince. There he was now, putting on that image of a perfect prince, full of dignity and grace and charm, when he really felt none of that. But these thoughts were thoughts of weakness, and no matter what happened, he was their prince, and he was not allowed to show any.

So, throughout the meal, he tried to strike conversations with Nerdanel, and though he did manage to make her laugh, the conversations tended to be short. Legolas was about to try talking about how bright _Earendil_ was tonight when he spotted someone entering the clearing.

She seemed awfully out of place. Where all the ladies had chosen bright and light colours, she had chosen a dark blue. Where sandal and slippers were what the others wore, she wore tall riding boots. Where all the dresses swept down to brush the soft grass, hers ended just above the knees. And where the ladies went with and escort, she had defiantly turned up alone.

All around the glade murmurs burst up, Legolas' sharp hearing picking up snippets of them. _Who is she?_ they asked, _how bold_ , they commented. Some words were less favourable than that, and even Nerdanel could not resist voicing her thoughts.

"Do you know who that is, my prince?"

"Just Legolas, my lady. Her name is Idhthrael, I believe, and she has just returned from Imladris."

"Are all ladies in Imladris like her? It would be a dreadful place, if so."

Legolas laughed at that. "Nay, my lady. I assure you, the Lady Idhthrael is singular."

"She is a Lady?"

"I do not know. Come, the dancing is about to begin." Then he whispered close to her ears so that no one else could hear, "let us get away from these dreadful old elves."

Nerdanel giggled, a tinkling sound. "Lead the way, my prince."

* * *

When Idhthrael entered the clearing she immediately began picking up the whispered words, the scathing glares sent to her. She simply ignored them, and began walking towards where the King sat to pay her respects to him.

"My King," she said, curtsying.

"Idhthrael, I see you have reconsidered," Thranduil replied.

"The night is young, my lord, and the forest rejoices. I could not help but join in."

"I am too old for dancing, but there are many _ellon_ for you to choose from. Enjoy tonight. You saved my joy from death, I hope you find your own tonight."

"I would never have guessed your age, your majesty," she replied cheekily, ignoring the gasps coming from the councillors. "You may not be eligible, my king, but you have yet to grow a beard like Mithrandir's."

The King chuckled. "Indeed. Go, find a younger elf to torment with your sharp tongue."

"At your service, your highness," Idhthrael replied, bowing before she walked away. She didn't hope to find a partner when she barely knew anyone and was therefore headed for the table flowing with food and drink when another elf blocked her way.

"My lady," he said smoothly. "May I have the pleasure of sharing your first dance?"

"Talathion!" Idhthrael exclaimed. "I thought you were on duty tonight?"

"In the later hours, yes, which is why I am staying away from there," he scowled at the group of elves surrounding a barrel of wine. "But I could not resist such a merry gathering."

"A merry gathering with so many fair ladies?"

"You are bold, my lady."

"Yes, and that has gotten me both into and out of trouble."

"So, will you have this dance?" he asked again as the music began to change.

"I am not a good dancer, Talathion, and I fear it would hurt if I stepped on you."

"Are you not bold enough to at least try?" he teased.

"Are you challenging my bravery?"

"If a woman is brave enough to wear boots to a royal feast, she should be bold enough to try dance with a poor warrior."

"You are by no means poor, Talathion." She glimpsed the Prince with a red-headed maiden on the dance floor, not noticing how his blue gaze watched her. With a small smile, she added, "but I will dance with you and show you my courage."

Talathion laughed. "And a fearful thing that is."

* * *

Legolas was frustrated. Certainly, Nerdanel was nice. She was quiet, polite, a blushing maiden if ever there was one. But he had been spying on Idhthrael who was now drinking wine and laughing with a young soldier, Idhthrael who had the nerves to refuse his company. He spun Nerdanel before dipping her as the music slowed to a stop. Idhthrael was laughing, her eyes so different than they had been earlier today. She was indeed brave to wear such an outfit to a feast, her first feast here, and the audacity of it made him curious. However, Nerdanel was clinging onto him as if he were her lifeline. He had used her as an excuse to avoid the other ladies, so Legolas did owe her something, and he had no intention of proving Idhthrael's accusations true.

Yet he could not restrain his desire to talk to her again, perhaps to amend her view of him, so he gracefully led Nerdanel to where Idhthrael was standing.

When Legolas arrived, the young soldier bowed. "My lord."

"Talathion, is it?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I think my lady is still in the spirit for another dance. I, however, require a bit of a rest from the liveliness of it all. Do you mind being her partner for the next dance?"

"N-no, my lord, I don't mind."

Idhthrael had other thoughts, and her eyes flashed. "I suppose my opinion is not a concern, then?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow cockily, before turning to Nerdanel. "You don't mind do you, my lady? I really have been out of practice, especially when dancing with a lady as skilled as you."

When Nerdanel shook her head, Legolas flashed her a winning smile, bringing her hand to his lips. "Excuse me, my lady."

After Talathion had taken Nerdanel away, Idhthrael seemed unable to contain her anger anymore. "Really? I was having a wonderful time and you decide that because you are the prince you have the right to saunter in?"

"No, as an elf I have the right to know what makes you hate me so," Legolas calmly responded.

"You do not know how much I've lost because of you," she spat back at him.

Legolas frowned, uncomprehending. "I don't understand."

Her eyes turned blank suddenly. "Duck."

"What?"

In one swift motion Idhthrael reached into her boot, taking out a knife and threw it over the Prince's head as she tackled him. A screech came from the forest, the sound of scuttling feet hurrying away.

As the elves clamoured in panic, Legolas found himself beneath Idhthrael, her lips less than an inch away from her. She smelled of ink and books, of mossy ground and old parchment. But the moment was gone and she had jumped back to her feet.

Idhthrael had two knives in her hands, her eyes alert, her back stiff. "They've gone for now. They're scared enough."

Legolas saw his father rise. The King surveyed the anxious faces. "how many warriors here are on duty tonight?" Several hands rose in the air. "Two of you return to the palace, bring back a contingent of guards. The rest of you secure the perimeter. The Darkness will not dampen tonight's feast. We will not cower in our halls in this hour of celebration." He signalled for the musicians to play again, and slowly the atmosphere eased.

"Thank you," Legolas breathed out to Idhthrael who had hidden her knives again. "I never took you for a warrior," he admitted.

Idhthrael snorted. "I could beat you, Prince Legolas, in any weapon of your choosing."

Legolas could not help but be surprised. "Such a claim should not be made lightly, my lady."

"And I do not make it lightly."

A smirk formed on Legolas' face. "Do you want to make a bet?"

"I have nothing to bet with, my lord, and there is no tournament to participate in."

"Erthor could easily arrange a competition between two of us, and there is a lot for you to wager on."

"If I win," Idhthrael said slowly, "then you will leave me alone? You will not try to seek me, you will not attempt to approach me."

Legolas smiled. "Very well. But if I win, then a kiss! And you will tell me why you dislike me so."

"You ask for two things, I ask for only one."

"Ah, but it is a difficult thing to live bereft of such a beautiful maiden."

Her eyes flashed. "It is also a difficult thing to be in the company of such an insufferable Prince."

"There it is again," Legolas said sadly.

"I will give you a kiss and my story, if you will also promise me a favour."

"What favour?"

"Any favour I ask you for."

"Just one?"

"Just one," she agreed.

Legolas now smirked. "I hope you shoot well, my lady."

"Oh," she grinned wolfishly, "I do."

And Legolas watched as she turned away, walking towards the forest, her dark cloak brushing the grass, her hair tumbling down her back carelessly, as carelessly as she walked through the dancers and the members of the court who eyed her with suspicion. He shook his head, he himself leaving the spot to discuss matters with his father. The realm, it seemed, was growing darker, and the Watchful Peace was ending.

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 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	7. Price of Winning

**yasminasfeir1 -** I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you :)

 **BlackWolf888** \- thank you so much for reviewing, and I'm trying my best not to turn Idhthrael into some Mary Sue cause I don't like them either. I'm glad that you like her! :)

And to all of you reading this around today or tomorrow, happy new year! I hope 2017 will be a better year for us all.

Now, to the story.

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It was a week later when Erthor finished arranging a small archery challenge for the two of them. Well, it was supposed to be small, but word had gotten out, and nobody missed the chance of watching Legolas shoot. Nobody, not even the King, Erthor thought, for even now King Thranduil strode into the clearing where the first round was supposed to take place.

Legolas and Idhthrael had taken their places. This round only consisted of stationary targets, designed to test speed and accuracy.

"Ready?" Erthor asked. They both notched an arrow. " _Fire!_ "

And again and again they fired, neither missing their targets. It was an impressive show of control and concentration. King Thranduil smiled a small smile, his son did not disappoint, but the _elleth_ was a mystery.

"Erthor," he called out. "Tell the Lady Idhthrael I wish to see her in the afternoon." Then he left, having seen all he needed.

* * *

Idhthrael cursed as she loosened another arrow. Her bow was longer than most, and in these trees, on horseback, it made it difficult to move around. She knew that there was merit to its design, for she had designed it herself, but right now, she didn't want to lose. They had agreed if they tied they would each get their desires, because Idhthrael felt after all the prince did have a right to know why she didn't like him much, and a kiss was a small price to pay if she could finally get her peace. She really could not stand having the weight of his presence in her mind, not when she had just – her thoughts shifted to the ring sitting on her bed. No, Idhthrael firmly said to herself. _Focus_. Legolas was in front of her, and she was gaining on him. With a grim smile, her head began calculating.

* * *

Legolas leapt off his horse. He had missed a target during the horseback round, but Idhthrael was behind him now. If he managed to beat her in this footrace round, then he would finally be able to know. He was winning, but if she won this round they would tie. He was not as vain as to think that none could beat him, yet her skills were extraordinary. He had seen her technique, it was distinctively Noldor, something which was not appropriate for shooting underneath the thick boughs of the Greenwood. Her bow was too long and it was made of metal, he thought as he ducked to avoid a branch and let another arrow loose. There was no need to look back to check if he had hit it. From the corner of his vision he saw Idhthrael several feet behind him, and he sped up. His legs were burning, but he would not lose. He knew these paths well, knew where the targets could be placed. There would be a turn soon, and they would end up back in the clearing where the first round had taken place. Two more arrows were left in his quiver. Legolas spotted a target high in the branches, shooting it, he dashed away, hearing Idhthrael's arrow hitting it too. He could feel her just behind him, he ran, pushing himself to the limit. The clearing was just ahead, Legolas could see Erthor tossing a red ball high in the air.

Skidding to a halt, he let loose his last arrow just as Idhthrael stopped beside him. There was a second of hesitation before she let loose her own arrow. He watched as it soared just behind his, saw it arc higher. She had done something, but he could not fathom what it was. Her arrow was gaining speed, it surpassed his, and hit the ball at the height of its arc, making it burst. Legolas' green and gold arrow hit empty air.

He turned around, seeing Idhthrael's wide eyes. "What did you do?" Legolas demanded. " _How?_ "

She smirked then. "Skill."

"There's more to it," Legolas growled.

"I am an inventor, Prince Legolas," she said. "I know how much force to put into an arrow, I know the curve required of a bow, I know the tension needed by the string so that my arrow overtakes another arrow, I know the design of an arrow tip which makes it fly faster. I saw the speed of your arrow, the distance it had covered. I saw the part of the ball's fall that you were aiming for. I knew that as long as I shot mine higher, as long as my arrow flew faster, I could aim for an earlier stage of the ball's arc."

"How could you?" Legolas asked.

"Calculations. Years and years of it."

"Teach me."

"Ah, but I do believe we tied, your highness, and if we tied, then we both win. I refuse to share your company for longer than necessary."

Legolas growled in frustration. He truly did want to know why she seemed to hate him so very much. Besides, he could always ask Erthor or his father to wheedle out the knowledge of how in Arda you could overtake an enemy's arrow just because of an arrow's design. He had checked his arrows before the competition began and they were all in pristine condition. "Fine," he said, making up his mind. "Tonight then. I'll meet you outside the smithy."

"It's not a smithy."

"Sure it is. It's the abandoned smithy."

"No," Idhthrael said, smiling. "It's a workshop. _My_ workshop. A place of possibility."

"A place of possibility shouldn't be underground where it's dark and dank."

" _Your_ palace is a cave, Prince Legolas, so you shouldn't be one to talk."

"It's _not_ a cave!" Legolas protested as she walked away.

"Yes it is," she shouted back, already about to disappear around the corner.

"Not a cave and not in love, Legolas?" Erthor approached, grinning.

"Go away," groaned the Prince.

* * *

Nervously standing outside the doors to the King's study, Idhthrael wondered what she had done that the King suddenly wanted an audience with her. It could be the events of this morning, or during last week's feast, or the fact that she had paid no heed to the courtesy required to be shown towards the ladies of the court. Just because she was born into a family in the outskirts of the forest did not mean that she had to bow her head in respect to ladies born inside the palace who had no merit whatsoever. Respect was earned, and none of those ladies had shown anything which deserved hers. She did try to be polite, but if sneers were what she got in return, well, everyone had their limits.

The doors opened, and an elf came out. "Lady Idhthrael," he said, "I am Galion. His majesty is waiting, come." Then he led her into the lavish room, through several doors until they reached the balcony.

There was a table with fruits and wine, two empty chairs, and a third where the King sat looking at the view of the forest. It was indeed a magnificent view, the afternoon sun making the green canopy look golden. In the distance the Old Fortress of Amon Lanc could be seen by their elvish eyes. This was the Greenwood in all its beauty and its might, the reason why the Sindar, the Silvan and the Avari who lived there did not leave for the shores of Valinor. There was life within this great haven of the elves, and it was beautiful.

But even now Idhthrael knew that beneath those golden boughs were spiders weaving their nests, orcs roaming its Southern borders. Danger was coming, the Watchful Peace was ending.

"Your majesty," Galion announced, "Idhthrael Adramiriel is here."

"Ah, very good. Thank you, Galion, you may leave now. Sit, Idhthrael. It is a wonderful view, is it not?" the King said.

"My King," Idhthrael murmured, bowing before she took the seat opposite him. "It is indeed an honour to see the splendour of this forest."

"Times of darkness approach, and while Imladris and Lothlorien possess Rings of Power, we have none to protect us."

Carefully, Idhthrael weighed her words. "I do not think, your majesty, that you need one. There is strength in these lands, in its people, in its King."

Thranduil looked at her now, his eyes piercing. "And what is your strength, Idhthrael?"

"I am an inventor."

"You are a healer, and a warrior. I watched you in the fields today. I have heard reports of another of your feats."

"I was trained for battle by Lord Glorfindel, to heal by Lord Elrond, and I was taught the lore of our people by Lord Erestor, my King. My trade, however, lies not in the court or the wards or the battlefield. I did not lie to you when I first came. I am an inventor, a mathematician. I calculate the movement of this world, and build tools to help us move with it. Thinking is my fighting."

"And where did you learn all that?"

Idhthrael laughed. "I taught myself. I tried and failed and tried again. I think it is our duty to understand the world we live in now, don't you think, my King? By understanding it, we may use its forces to aid us."

There were a few seconds of silence as the King studied her. "I gave you leave to craft, Idhthrael Adramiriel, but now I change the terms. You may design what tools you wish, but you will become a lady of the court. You will take part in war councils, your inventions will be used by the kingdom, and you will give counsel to the warriors, to the healers, to _me_."

"My lord, surely you cannot ask me to – "

"I can _Lady_ Idhthrael," Thranduil said, his voice brooking no arguments. "You have proven your skills well. I saw your bow, its limbs were metal – metal blades."

"Yes, my King. It can be dismantled to become knives with this button using the mechanism I design, or to be used like a spear. In battle when you use a bow, the time needed to switch weapons is precious."

King Thranduil smiled. "Very good. I hope you do not disappoint me."

"How do you know you can trust me?" Idhthrael blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Why me, when there are many craftsmen in the Greenwood?"

"Because you do not fear being yourself, and if you hated me, you would have said it to my face the moment we met. Besides, my son seems to have taken a liking to you."

"My lord?" she murmured, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"My son enjoys the company of some maidens, but he has never sought out constant companionship, no matter how I strive to motivate him. He will escort maidens to feasts to appease me, he will charm this lady today, and that lady tomorrow. His desire to find you, however, was something else. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, your highness, I have no feelings of such nature for your son."

"If you hurt him, Lady Idhthrael, you will answer to me."

"Of course, your highness," she said unflinchingly. "And if he hurts me, do forgive me if he has to answer to me."

At that, Thranduil's lips twitched. "You will have many enemies at the court if you do not restrain yourself."

"But is that not why you made me a _Lady_ in the first place, your highness?"

"Indeed it is, and it may also just be why you could become so much more."

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	8. Ghosts

**CarelessMisbehaviour** \- thank you, I don't see your reviews as flames, it's very constructive so, yeah, thanks a lot. I also didn't quite expect myself to write that scene where Thranduil physically hurts Legolas but well, I enjoy trying out new scenes. I've tried to put more descriptions into this chapter. Tell me what you like and dislike :) oh, and happy new year to you too

 **yasminasfeir1** \- I think that Thranduil knows more than Legolas thinks he does, and that change of terms was partly for Legolas too. I'm glad that you enjoyed it :)

And now to the story.

* * *

"Come in," Idhthrael said when she heard him knock on her trapdoor, not bothering to check who it was

"Hello," Legolas cautiously greeted as he went down the wooden steps, but the room was empty. There were rows upon rows of bookshelves, tables here and there, a small bed, and chandeliers of candles hanging from the ceiling. And yet Idhthrael was not to be found.

"Just sit on the bed for a moment. I'm a little bit busy with something," her voice drifted to Legolas from behind the shelves. There was a design that suddenly popped into her mind while she had been changing to meet him. If there was a way for her to compress fire so that it could be unleashed upon orcs, if she could design a container that would allow some sort of fire to burst out of it and burn anything in its vicinity, it could solve everything. Of course, there was the problem that they were in a forest, and forests tended to… well, burn… when put on fire. But burning whatever stood in their way sounded too orcish for her to be comfortable.

"Where are you?" Legolas asked, disturbing her thoughts, trying to navigate the rows of bookshelves and vials.

"Just sit on the bed!"

"What is all this?" He couldn't stop himself from reaching out once in a while, fingers brushing the weapons or the books or the glass vials which seemed to be everywhere in the room.

"My work, you idiot."

Legolas frowned, looking at the picture pinned onto the wall. It looked like a rigid foot-like thing with bolts running through it. "This is a drawing of a leg?"

"A man came to Rivendell once, injured, had to amputate his leg. I made him a new one. I'm trying to think of an arm."

"The leg can move?"

"Yeah, with a little bit of elvish on it, the wood responded."

He peered into vials filled with luminescent liquids, tapping them gently. This place was bizarre. Behind the last bookshelf Legolas found Idhthrael bent over a table. She was wearing a white coat that reached the floor, a dark red tunic and black pants, with her trusty riding boots. Her hair was jumbled up into a misshapen bun, her hands stained with ink. She was drawing, he realised.

"I told you to sit on the bed."

"This is amazing, Idhthrael." Everywhere he looked were drawings of mechanisms, weapon designs, sheets full of numbers. He tried to see what she was drawing, but she would not let him.

"Oh fine," she grumbled, putting down her quill. "Can't work with you staring at me like that. Let's go."

"Where?"

"To my bed. I mean, to sit on it. And talk. I'd rather tell you here." A faint blush had risen to her cheeks, which she hid by pulling the band holding her hair up, letting it fall into a curtain covering her face.

"Idhthrael, if you aren't comfortable, we could just call it off. We tied, after all."

She looked at him weirdly. "If you stay away from me after this, it's worth it."

"Is my company really that abhorrent?" he asked, following her through the maze that was her work.

Her bed was a small thing, shoved haphazardly into an alcove, surrounded by books, as if Idhthrael did not care much about rest. A chandelier of candles hung just outside it, casting eerie shadows upon the white sheets covering the bed. When she sat down, she didn't look much like that maiden who strode into the feast with riding boots, who casually killed a spider which no one else had noticed. She looked like a fragile thing.

Idhthrael sighed softly. "The memories are," she said, waiting for Legolas to sit next to her.

* * *

 _A very long time ago…_

" _Nana_ , where is _Ada_ going?" the elfling asked her mother.

"Your father is going to the palace, _penneth_."

Her mother smiled as she kneeled in front of her, tucking the stray strands of hair behind the elfling's small ears.

"Are you going to go too?" the little elf asked, tugging at her mother's dress.

"Yes, my dearest, which is why you'll have to be a good girl."

"Can't I come?" the elfling pouted.

"No, it's too dangerous. Stay with your brother and you'll be fine. He's a warrior too, like your father."

The elfling frowned, crossing her chubby arms. Head titled in thought, she asked, "if it's not safe why are you going too?"

"Because I am a healer, and the King has requested me to come. Your father is escorting me." Now her mother was standing, looking out the kitchen window as she placed some bread inside a bag.

Immediately worry filled the elfling's small face. "Who is sick, _Nana_?"

"The Prince, my dear."

"Oh." If it was the Prince then it had to be important, thought the elfling as she again tugged her mother's dress. "But you'll come back?"

This time her mother turned to face her, the bag abandoned on the kitchen counter. Small brown eyes looked into bigger blue ones, desperately not wanting to let go. Her mother ran her large hands through the elfling's dark locks. "Yes, darling, I promise. And what do we say about promises?"

"You never break them," Idhthrael replied solemnly.

* * *

 _Three weeks later…_

"Guess what, _tithen el?_ " her brother murmured as he lifted her into the air.

"What?" Idhthrael asked, squealing as she was spun.

" _Nana_ and _Ada_ are coming home!"

"You aren't lying, Adraithon?" she demanded as her brother put her down, eyes wide.

"I'd never lie to you," he replied, ruffling her hair. "Now, go to your room and change. We can ride out to meet them."

With a squeal of joy, she ran to her room, but a knock on the front door stopped her. She crept slowly back into the dining room. There was a scary elf who was talking with her brother. She knew it was bad to eavesdrop. The elf looked serious though, so she couldn't help being curious.

" – orcs. Not one hour's ride from here. We need you," she heard the strange elf say.

She saw his brother nodding, and heard him call her back. Slowly she came out of the shadows, reading the disapproval in her brother's eyes. "Idhthrael, I need you to be brave, okay?" he kneeled down so his blue eyes, which were so like their mother's, was level with hers. "I need you to stay here until I return. There's something I have to take care of so that _Nana_ and _Ada_ can come home safely."

"I don't want to be alone," she said, trying not to let her fear show.

Her brother cupped her face with his hands. "Hey, you're never alone, sister. You'll always have me to torment."

She let out a shaky laugh as her brother kissed her forehead. Grabbing his bow and his sword, Adraithon flashed her one of his winning smiles before he followed the scary elf out of the house.

It had been hours since her brother left when she felt she could not bear the waiting anymore. The orcs where supposed to be close. Idhthrael could not stand it. Adraithon had wanted her to be brave, so she would be, she decided grimly as she found the small bow and quiver _Ada_ had carved for her before he left. The quiver had some arrows in it, which was good, Idhthrael decided, but she couldn't find any swords. It didn't really matter though because they were too heavy for her to lift anyways. Taking a square of _lembas_ from the kitchen, she then bounded off into the woods, her small body allowing her to slip through the guards.

She begged the trees to show her the way, which they did reluctantly. Idhthrael ran and ran and ran until – _there!_ – she saw a glimpse of a golden quiver. When she jumped down from the boughs, the elfling was not prepared for the sight.

It was a scene of massacre. There were black corpses of orcs, silvery red elven blood pooling around the fallen bodies of elves. She wanted to scream, but Adraithon had told her to be brave so she bit her lip, choking back her sobs. She didn't know who these elves were, and maybe some of them were still alive, she thought hopefully. Reaching out to the nearest elf, she shifted his hair.

"No," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. " _Ada_." His eyes were closed, his face pale and cold for her small hands to touch. "No, please," Idhthrael begged, trying to shake him awake. Blood had come out from his mouth, and there was a hole through his back, and it was then when the elfling realised he was gone.

Idhthrael stumbled, wanting to get away from this nightmare. That was not her father, it could _not_ be. She yelped when she tripped over an arm, landing on her front. When she looked up, Idhthrael was looking into her brother's lifeless eyes. She scrambled away, not caring where it was she ran to, as long as it was away.

* * *

 _Present moment_

"And when I realised I was lost, I heard a scream and I knew it was my mother's voice. I climbed a tree to stay hidden, but when I found her, she was being held down by an orc, her back was a bloody mess, and they were trying to violate her." Idhthrael's voice was strangely devoid of any emotion, her eyes just staring straight at the opposite wall. "I shot an arrow, I, an elfling only twenty something years of age, and killed the orc holding her down."

"Idhthrael, you don't have to go on," Legolas said softly, just as he had throughout her tale, but just as she had been doing so far, she ignored him.

"Somehow I had managed to hit his head. The remaining eight orcs tried to find me, but I shot another one of them in the chest. Then they told me they would kill my mother if I didn't come out. I was about to when it seemed the Valar decided I had been through enough. Lord Elrond who was on his way back to Imladris had a vision and he turned back. His party found the orcs and killed them, but not before the orc managed to twist its poisoned knife into my mother's stomach," Idhthrael said, finishing her story.

"I'm sorry," Legolas whispered, regretting ever making her tell him. He wanted to reach out, to give some sort of comfort to her, but he didn't know how.

"My mother died not knowing I was there. I hated you since then," Idhthrael told him. It was a statement. There was no anger, no spite. Just a statement. "If you hadn't gotten injured, my parents wouldn't have gone, and they wouldn't have died."

"Idhthrael, I – "

"Before Lord Elrond took me to Imladris, King Thranduil gave me a gift. There were precious few of them left – crystallised water from the Enchanted River, made by your grandfather. It could make you forget your grief. If I placed it in a concoction of nightshade and drank it, it would make me remember a different reality." Tears had formed in her eyes now, and Legolas looked away, giving her a small measure of privacy. The white fabric of the bed seemed very interesting now.

"I would perhaps believe that I had been orphaned in the woods, or that my mother had died giving birth to me," came her voice again, it had a sort of wistful tone to it. "Anything but the truth." She laughed a bitter laugh, her hand running through her messy hair. "It would erase all the joy though, and I didn't want to forget my mother's voice or my father's safe arms, my brother's laugh."

"You didn't take it?" Legolas asked, his own memories rushing through his head.

"No," Idhthrael answered. She gazed at him quizzically before adding, "you took it."

" _What?_ "

"The cure I made for you. There was no time to figure out anything stronger to make the Shadow in the spider venom forget its purpose so I gave you the crystal." Her voice was calm and steady, as if she felt nothing about it, making Legolas wonder if she actually did feel nothing.

"Why? Did you not need it anymore?" Legolas asked, unable to comprehend.

"Perhaps I still do, perhaps I don't. If my grief comes back, then I suppose it's a battle I'm used to."

"You shouldn't get used to battles."

"Every day is a battle, Prince Legolas. Every night is an achievement. We've got to hold onto something, and I guess I hold onto the fact that this world needs me. Otherwise, the Valar would not have saved me that day."

"Idhthrael, forgive me." Legolas began slowly, trying to meet her downcast eyes. "I should not have asked you to tell me all this, I would not have asked if I had known."

"You deserved to know," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. "It was my choice."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry that it happened," Legolas murmured. He looked at the thin maiden sitting beside him, the drawings covering every empty space of the walls, the overflowing bookshelves and half-done experiments. Idhthrael Adramiriel who hated him because centuries ago he had been sick for Valar knew what reason and her parents had gone to help him. This angry girl who he realised was angry not only at him but at the universe too – and she did have a right to that anger. How he wanted to take her in his arms, to soothe her thoughts, but it would be unwelcome.

Instead he only said, "if you ever need anything, my lady, I am at your service."

She smiled at her hands ruefully, not looking at him. "Stay away from me, like you promised."

The request made his heart clench. Legolas gazed at her one more time, desperately wanting to comfort her in any way. "Good bye, then, Lady Idhthrael. I wish you find all the joy stolen from you." He stood up, fully intent on leaving, when something fell to the floor. He reached down to take it – a silver ring, like an engagement ring, with one small diamond, had fallen to the floor.

Her head shot up, looking at it. "That – that's nothing," Idhthrael said too quickly, her voice panicky.

"Was it your mother's?" he asked, holding it up in the candlelight.

She bit her lip, not quite meeting his eyes. "It's mine."

"Why aren't you wearing it?"

"You ask too many questions," she replied, suddenly frosty.

"I'm sorry," he muttered quickly, giving it back to her, even if his eyes lingered on it.

She must have noticed his hesitation because she quickly pocketed it, saying, "No, it's alright. I just – "

"No," Legolas stopped her midsentence. "You have no obligation to tell me. I'll leave." He walked resolutely to the trapdoor, trying to ignore the whirlwind of questions in his head, the feelings swirling in his chest, and was just about to exit when her voice made him freeze.

"Thank you… Legolas."

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	9. Reason

**yasminasfeir1** \- the ring is also another reason why Idhthrael wants Legolas to stay away, but you'll have to wait several chapters to know more :)

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- I'm glad I'm doing better, and yes, her backstory becomes relevant later on.

Here's the next chapter :)

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Legolas kept true to his promise. He stayed away from Idhthrael, avoided her when he saw her coming out of his father's study. But he could not stop thinking about her, which was really not a good thing because his patrols were becoming more frequent as more spider attacks came. Her story bothered him, partly because he was indirectly a caused of her parents', whom he could not remember, death, but more because he had gone through a similar thing. They had gone different ways, he supposed, in handling death, and yet they were not so different. Legolas fished out a teardrop crystal from the small box where he kept his childhood mementoes. There was a lock of his mother's hair in there, a brooch she had given him, which he never dared to wear, fearing to break it. He laughed softly to himself as he closed the box, hiding it in his closet. Sure, he would keep away from her, but he felt it his responsibility to care for someone who had gone through a pain such as his own, so he would find out exactly what she did when she spent hours in council with the King. And then there was the question of the ring she had, but he would not pry that secret from her. Not like he had pried her story.

A month later, he did find out what it was she was labouring on when he entered the warriors' quarters to a surprise. Commander Celegorm, who had been brought back from the battlefield presumed dead, standing in the centre of the room with Idhthrael beaming next to him. Legolas noticed that Celegorm's lower left arm was made of _wood_.

"What is this?" Legolas asked, his voice carrying through the room as he approached them. Sorcery brought people from the dead, dark magic, and the prince did not like what that meant, even if the warriors around them seemed excited by it. Who wouldn't be? The prospect that you could be saved even if you were already dead was something they all felt attracted to.

"She brought me back," Celegorm said simply. "I was halfway to Mandos but she wouldn't let me go."

"How?" demanded the Prince.

"Some herbs, some words, and his desire to live," Idhthrael answered. "I found that there was no lethal blow, his vital organs were undamaged. There was corrupting poison in his arm that was stealing his life, but I cut it off, gave him a new one, and here he is."

"Idhthrael, that's impossible." Legolas was relieved that it wasn't done by some dark magic, and he could not help but raise one eyebrow, looking behind her where Celegorm was showing the other warriors how the hand worked.

"Nothing is impossible, Prince Legolas," she smiled.

"How does it even work?"

"We are elves, we are closer to nature than men could ever be. We can bend wood to our thought, just as dwarves can mould rock." Then Idhthrael grabbed the Commander's arm, to the interest of many of the elves. Celegorm clenched his wooden fist, grinning like a child. "Look," she told the prince, "you can make it to move like any other hand." Something in her eyes were shining, a glint of something he didn't quite trust. It was his answer, Legolas realised, the answer to what he had been trying to understand about this _elleth_.

Celegorm smiled at her, "indeed, and the King himself has cleared me for active duty again, my Prince."

"Excuse me, my lord, I must talk to the Lady Idhthrael in private," Legolas said, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the room into an empty corridor, ignoring the suspicious glances from the other warriors and not giving her a chance to protest.

"What are you _doing?_ " she demanded, stepping away from him, into the shadows.

"Idhthrael, tell me the truth. _Why_ are you doing this?"

"Why am I saving lives, you mean? Perhaps because I would like to do a decent thing!"

"No, you are enjoying this far too much than for it to be just that."

"What are you suggesting? That I mean to do harm to people?" she loudly asked him, earning a curious glance from a passing warrior whom they both ignored, too wrapped up in the argument to care who saw or heard.

"You thirst for knowledge, and if that thirst goes so far that you would defy the will of the gods to sate it, then it is getting dangerous, Idhthrael."

"Don't you dare tell me what I can or can't do, Prince Legolas, when you have just broken a promise."

"I've talked to my father, I know the designs you have made. The weapons you are designing could kill us all."

"It's a risk we have to take." She looked at him, her eyes daring him to challenge her, but beneath it, Legolas could see pain.

"You are _angry_ , Idhthrael, and anger doesn't take us anywhere good."

"My anger was what gave me these ideas in the first place! I _saved_ lives because I was angry, because I wanted to change the universe," she heard her voice crack and she turned away from him, trying to regain her composure.

"The universe was made this way for a reason!" Legolas shouted at her.

"Well it shouldn't be this cruel! Are you blaming me for saving the Commander's life? For saving _your_ life?" Oh, how she wanted to change the universe, to somehow be able to turn back time, to kill every single orc in this Valar forsaken land. What was the use of saving lives when they went out to battle again only to be killed? What meaning was there to heal if you had to go on in a world that insists on breaking you?

By now, it seemed, many elves had come, lured into this usually empty corridor by their voices. Legolas spotted Erthor, who was nervously trying to approach him to somehow break this argument. The prince flashed him a glare that clearly told his second in command to get everyone else out.

"No, Idhthrael," Legolas said quietly as the other elves began to leave, "I fear what your anger will make of you."

"It has made me a creator," she hissed at him, not wanting to accept his words.

Legolas closed his eyes, blocking away the memories which had surfaced. He knew that he too was angry at the universe, but he had controlled that anger, unwilling to go back to the days when it had consumed him. He fought the urge to lean back against the wall of the corridor for support as images filled his mind's eye. "A creator of destruction," he said to her, "is still a creator."

"Goodbye, Prince Legolas," Idhthrael said, walking away, having had enough.

He caught her hand, not wanting to back down. "You're not fading, Idhthrael, no, you are too stubborn for that, but you're losing yourself."

"You know nothing of what I feel," she quietly said to him, her voice laced with poison, wrenching her hand away.

"Oh, I know, Idhthrael, for I lost my mother too, and I saw my father fading. I know what grief can do," Legolas shot back. Neither of them said anything for the breadth of a few seconds. The corridor was empty, now, and it seemed that the world had caught up to them again. Then Legolas took from his pocket a necklace, pressing it into her hands. "To replace the one you lost."

She stared at him, looking at the shape of the pendant, unable to breathe. "It's yours?"

Legolas smiled bitterly. "I didn't drink it either."

"Why are you giving it to me? I asked you to stay away, I didn't ask for you to give anything." But her hands clenched the necklace, not wanting to part from it.

"At first I stayed for duty, and it was painful. But when my father was better and I felt no one needed me anymore, I decided to stay to avenge my mother," Legolas said, voice nearly cracking. He didn't know why the words tumbled from his lips. All he knew was that these feelings which he had kept locked for centuries refused to be denied, and he could not stop himself.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked angrily.

He ignored her, just as she had ignored him that day in her workshop. "I thought it didn't matter if I died, because who cared? My father found me in the woods one day, surrounded by dead orcs. He begged me to stay, but he gave me the same crystal he gave you. At that moment I realised that there is only one cure for grief and it isn't the easy way out." Legolas paused then, trying to find the eyes which were hidden in the shadows.

"Legolas, why?" this time her voice was timid, scared.

"You are right that it is a battle that never ends." Legolas turned, about to walk away before he added softly, "Find yourself the real reason for you to stay, Idhthrael, don't stay for anger. It's just another form of grief."

* * *

Idhthrael slammed the trapdoor shut and dropped down to sit on the stairs. Legolas' words were ringing in her head. She looked at the place she now called home, this lantern-lit cavern filled with drawings and ideas. There was a scorch mark on the floor from one of her failed experiments. Unfinished weapons were strewn on one of the tables. She remembered how she had trained and trained to be the best warrior there ever was because Lord Elrond had refused her desire to join the patrols and fight orcs, saying that she was not skilled enough. When she had beaten Lord Glorfindel in all the weapons, she had still been denied permission to actually fight. She had screamed and raged and threatened the elf who had taken her in. She had wanted to go out of the room, to flee to the woods where she might be alone. But Lord Elrond had locked the door, and the balcony hanged off a cliff.

When Idhthrael had vented her anger, when many of his glass sculptures had been broken, Lord Elrond took her in his arms, telling her that violence could not solve everything, that there were other ways to fight. She had begged him to teach her, and that night she learned that she only needed her mind to win. She channelled her frustration into creativity, her anger into discovery.

Now, she was not so sure if she was winning. _I fear what your anger will make of you_ , Legolas had said, and Idhthrael knew that it was what Lord Elrond feared too. She did not regret telling the prince her story, he had a right to know why she hated him so much, in fact, it felt like a relief to finally talk about that day. No one in Imladris had been able to coax out her feelings. It felt as if a burden had been taken off her. However, for the prince to suddenly go on an angry tirade only because she had saved somebody's life and suddenly tell her about how his mother had died was an entirely different, and shocking, thing.

Idhthrael had always imagined the prince to be haughty, arrogant, self-imposing. Someone who enjoyed whoring around the with ladies who fell over each other in a rush to get into his bed. But the prince she had seen today, the prince whom she had told her story to, was different. She didn't want to be proven wrong, not when this elf was why her family had died, but Idhthrael knew she was fighting a losing battle, just as her own anger was making her lose herself.

The prince was right, and Idhthrael did not like that at all.

But she held the necklace he had given her in the air, allowing the sunbeams filtering into the room to illuminate it. She had missed the weight of it on her neck, and it had always been a reminder to her of every day that she had won in her battle against grief. It had been a reminder of all the reasons she didn't want to forget – the innocence of her childhood.

Making her decision, Idhthrael put the chain around her neck, clasping it together so that the teardrop rested just on her jugular notch.

* * *

Legolas quickly closed the door to his quarters and slid down it until he sat on the floor, his head leaning on the thick wood. What possessed him to tell her so much? He had not meant for the conversation to go that way, had not meant to tell her about his mother, had not meant to show such weakness. Idhthrael was just so _beautiful_. The way her eyes had light up when she had talked about the arm she made, about her invention – yes, there was anger, but there was passion too, and he wondered if he had been wrong to pull her away like that. There was no denying that he was pleased Commander Celegorm was alive, but the way Idhthrael was living worried him.

He was fighting a losing battle, he realised. He didn't know if he wanted it or if he didn't want it, but that hellfire of a girl who could invent a bloody arm, who could destroy the whole world if she set her mind on it, whose sharp tongue was sharper than her intellect, who seemed to have the inability to tolerate the decorum of court, who dared to challenge the King and who actually won against him – she was something else. That scholar who was also a warrior with her riding boots and angry scowl. He loved how she didn't care that he was a prince, how she dared to boldly speak her mind. The way she went about life simply stunned him.

But he could not love her, not when another elf had claimed her heart. Another voice in his head pointed out that there was a reason for her not to be wearing the ring. He quickly squashed the voice. Those thoughts were simply wrong.

It was not like him at all to be brooding about a woman, he scowled inwardly. Oh, if Erthor knew about his thoughts, Legolas knew that he would be in deep, deep trouble. Perhaps the archery range might clear his thoughts.

So Legolas decided to get up and open the door. He was about to go through it too when – "oh, I'm sorry."

Speak of the devil, Legolas thought, resisting the urge to bang his head unto something. "What do you want, Erthor?" Immediately he knew that something was wrong. Erthor's eyes seemed to roam the surroundings, as if trying to assess possible threats, his hand rested on his sword, fidgeting, unable to stay still.

"Orcs. Lots of them, at the Southern border," Erthor said hurriedly.

" _What?_ When did this news come?" Already, they had both begun to unconsciously walk down the hall, heading down the familiar path.

"Just now. From what the scout said it's bad. Really bad." They passed by crowds of elves – serving maids who were carrying baskets of linens, some of the King's advisors, fellow soldiers – but they ignored them in their haste.

When they reached the doors to the council room, Legolas asked, "has my father called the Council?"

Erthor didn't bother replying, he simply pushed open the door, revealing the King and his Captains who were already deep into debate.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	10. Fear

**BlackWolf888** \- hello again! Thank you :)

 **yasminasfeir1** \- I'm glad you liked it :)

Okay, so, warning. This chapter contains rather unpleasant scenes with orcs which are a bit graphic.

* * *

Thranduil put down the trade agreement he had been trying to read and stood up, heading to the balcony of his study. Legolas had been gone for over a month. The mission was predicted to last three weeks, and if they were returning injured, he understood the delay. But even that delay could not take this long. The sense of unease that had stolen his sleep these past days was screaming at him to do something. The vastness of the Greenwood laid before him, how he wished he could see through the canopy to find his son.

Something was wrong, the trees were calling the elves for help, his own heart knew it. The warriors from Legolas' contingent who had been found unconscious on the Elf Path two days ago were all but proof. Thranduil rarely listened to his heart, it was not his place as a King to heed his own wishes, but there were times when he could not ignore them.

"Galion!" he shouted.

In less than five seconds the other elf was there. "Yes, my King?"

"Find out if any of the returned warriors have awoken. Then find the Lady Idhthrael, bring her here. _Now_."

* * *

Perhaps Erthor was right. Well, he never looked for trouble on purpose, but when he was tied to a stake, his back ripped apart, and surrounded by orcs, Legolas wondered if the world was simply against him. He wondered where Erthor was. Really, his second in command was lucky that he was not blond. There were only two blond elves in Legolas' contingent, himself and a young warrior, Orthenion, and the orcs had only cared to capture them.

It became apparent before the fighting had even begun. They were being drawn into a trap, and while they had also managed to trap most of the orcs into spider territory – it was a satisfying thing to hear their screeches – the orcs cornered them into that same territory. They were sorely outnumbered, but the leader of the orcs had commanded them in the dark tongue, which Legolas had picked up fragments of during his previous encounters with the orcs, to capture the blond ones.

The last Legolas had seen of Erthor was when his second had been trying to fight off an extremely large orc in an attempt to get to him, and then an orc had managed to slam an axe into his right arm, twice, before another orc clubbed him in the head. Then he had woken up to agony quite far away from their battleground, his body slung over an orc's shoulders.

It had been eight days since their capture, and the orcs were getting more and more frustrated. They had tried to figure out if either Legolas or Orthenion was the Prince, they had tried to ask for the elves' names, they had tried to wheedle out the King's plans, they had tried to know the defences of the Greenwood. But no answers came from the two elves.

Legolas knew though, that regardless of what the orcs decided to do, they had unwittingly already blown a hole through the kingdom's defences. His right arm was shattered. It was too late to successfully fix the muscles of the arm, to put together the fragments of bone. He laughed bitterly in his head. Perhaps Idhthrael would cut it off and give him a new one like Celegorm's. Or perhaps they would die in the orc's grasp without having to worry about what would happen afterwards.

Detachedly, Legolas watched as the orcs tied Orthenion to a tree. They had both been beaten up cruelly today. Orthenion, though, he was both beaten and burned. His chest was black and red and utterly horrible to look upon. Legolas knew that he was going to suffer the same fate tomorrow, he remembered Orthenion's screams, he remembered the scars on his father's face. The thought of fire nearing his skin was enough to make him freeze in fear.

But he prayed that when tomorrow came, he would remember his loyalty to his people.

* * *

Idhthrael stared at the King, unbelieving. "Forgive me, your highness, but you would have me do _what?_ "

"You heard me perfectly fine," Thranduil growled, standing up from behind his table. He could not sit still, not now when he had just finished seeing a warrior from Legolas' contingent who had awoken and confirmed his fears. Erthor had taken it upon him to send the critically injured back while he lead a small group of elves to free the two captive elves, the Prince was captured, and it was a hopeless rescue mission. There were too many orcs.

"You know the dangers of that design," Idhthrael told the King, staring up at him.

"I just had a soldier wake up to report that my son is being held by over a hundred orcs," he told her, gripping the edges of his table until his knuckles turned white. "There is supposed to be a council meeting within the hour to decide what must be done. You know how entirely useless that is. Even if I send a contingent of elves there, they would all die."

"The design isn't even ready yet!" she protested, running her hand through her hair in thought. "There has to be another way. Besides, the other half of the Prince's contingent is looking for him."

It was quite good, really, that they were far away from the guards. Galion had grown used to their arguments, because Idhthrael simply refused to be forced to do anything, and sometimes what she thought was a wonderful invention did not fit well with the King's mind. She also seemed to resist forms of authority, so clashes were inevitable and the guards usually deemed such clashes a hazard to the King's wellbeing.

"Less than half. Many died during the fight, and even so, Erthor leads a group of injured elves," Thranduil countered.

"Well then we must hope in them, because there is no _time_ for us to reach them." She was running scenarios in her head. They were simply too far North, and yet she had no desire to tell this worried King, this worried _father_ that it was frankly hopeless.

"You had better think of a way very soon, Lady Idhthrael, because I cannot afford the lives of a hundred elves for the life of one, and yet I will not be able to survive the loss of my son." His voice was low, dangerous. He had to hold onto the hope that Legolas could be saved because he feared the madness he could descend into otherwise.

"My lord, with all due respect – " Idhthrael began, rising from her seat so that she could talk to the King eye to eye.

Thranduil resisted the urge to hurl something at the wall. This _elleth_ was his hope at doing something impossible, his hope of getting his son back without compromising the safety of the kingdom. "You can calculate the movement of an arrow in less than a second, you can very well find a way to save my son."

"You can't expect me to – "

"I am your _King_ ," he nearly shouted. "I can expect anything of you."

"My lord the only way you can do this is if all those hundred orcs suddenly drop dead on the ground. Otherwise it is nigh on impossible unless Legolas finds a way on his own from the inside! You can't expect me to be able to think of an idea to make all the orcs just stop moving suddenly so I can drag two possibly dead elves out of an area possibly surrounded with spiders! That would just be – _OH!_ "

"What else do you have to say?" Thranduil hissed.

She frowned at him, her face asking him how he could be so dense as to not understand. "There _is_ a way!" she exclaimed, waving her hands about. "Just make them all drop dead!"

"And how are you going to achieve that?" he asked, sarcasm filling every word. Thranduil forced himself to see logic, to disregard emotion and think as a King must, logic ruling his mind, not his emotions.

Idhthrael threw her hands in the air, nearly hitting a pile of unfinished paperwork on the King's desk. "The smelling drug, you know? The one that makes you faint if you smell too much of it? We could – we could somehow trap it in my design and we just throw it into the orc camp and they all fall dead. Oh, my lord, I'm sorry but I've got to go – bye!" and she dashed off, leaving Thranduil alone and in need of very much wine.

* * *

"Yes, because that's just very original," Legolas muttered under his breath as the orcs dragged him to a pole in the centre of the clearing. He really was tired of having his wrists tied up above him, and his body was beginning to shut down. He could not find it in him to fight back against the orcs, so he did not fight back.

"The pretty thing can talk, boys," the orc leader who was carrying a torch said. "I bet he has a scream as pretty as the other scum's."

The orcs were cheering now, and Legolas could see one of them holding Orthenion up, forcing him to watch. Discretely, the prince met the young warrior's eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly, a plea not to look. The warrior was haunted enough by his own experience, he did not need dreams of his prince being tortured, of his prince screaming – because Legolas knew that he _would_ scream.

They were nearly out of Greenwood today, Legolas thought detachedly, trying to think of something else. They were near the Brown Lands, if they went even more South, then they would reach Mordor. Well, that was not what Legolas wanted to think of when he tried this little distraction. He thought instead of his father who would be mad with worry now, and unbidden, his thoughts went to Idhthrael. She would be clever enough to not be in his position now. She would not have fallen into this trap and would probably have told the orcs to go kill themselves before she set them on fire with something of her design.

Legolas would have laughed if he could. He didn't know what he was holding onto anymore. Orthenion and he had tried to escape but found it impossible. They would be lucky if his father knew already that they had been captured, and by the time a rescue party reached the scene of battle, both of them would be too far gone. And who was to say that the orcs would not forget their orders and have a little bit too much fun?

The orc leader grabbed Legolas' tangled hair, forcing the elf to look into his eyes. "Are you scared, little elf?" When the prince only sent him an icy glare, the orc went on, bringing the torch nearer to his face. "You should be."

Legolas prayed to the Valar that his father would never find his body. That the King would never have to see his son's broken body, his son's unrecognisable face.

"I think if you didn't look so pretty, you would respect your betters more, pretty boy."

He hoped Idhthrael would be there to somehow order Thranduil back to life when they found out he was dead. If there was anyone except himself who could win against his father, who could force the stubborn Elvenking to do something, it was that girl, Legolas thought as he turned his face away from the fire nearing it, hoping to minimise the damage.

"Scream for me, elf," the orc sneered.

The fire licked at his skin, and for a moment, he felt nothing. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to give the orc pleasure. But then the pain came, and as he smelled his own burning flesh, Legolas screamed.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	11. To Rescue

**CarelessMisbehaviour** \- I'm glad my descriptions did what they were supposed to do, and yes, Legolas doesn't deserve it, but well, it might be good for him in the long run

 **yasminasfeir1** \- thank you, I'll try not to damage Legolas too much. Physically, at least. :)

 **BlackWolf888** \- there's more Idhthrael in this chapter, and thank you. I think Legolas struggles with a lot more things than he lets on because of his position as a prince and that's what I'm trying to explore.

And now to the story.

* * *

Erthor was running, running as fast as his injured leg would allow him. That scream was definitely Legolas'. He glanced back at the eight elves who were with him, neither of them completely hale. The prince would be devastated by the losses they had suffered – of the fifty something elves who had left the stronghold, only twenty three were alive. He had sent back the critically wounded to the palace with several mildly wounded elves and treated his wounds as best he could before setting off to find Legolas with the other relatively fine warriors. Here, relatively meant less than four deep wound.

What they had expected to be roughly two hundred orcs turned out to be more than twice that number, and it scared Erthor deeply to know that the minions of darkness were brave enough to amass in such numbers now in the Watchful Peace. Something great must have stirred them from their hiding, for orcs were cowardly, and that same entity, he was almost sure, was also the cause of the spider infestation in the woods.

They could hear the orc camp now, and they took to the trees, climbing up to stay hidden, using their ears as their guide. The branches became thinner as they reached some sort of clearing filled with torchlight.

 _Oh, Valar_ , Erthor thought as all nine of them stopped. Of the five hundred something orcs they had encountered, around a hundred still lived, and they seemed to have had some _fun_. Legolas was tied by his wrists to a post in the centre of the encampment, his dirty golden hair covering his face, and he was so still that Erthor feared him dead.

The other eight elves looked at Erthor, silently asking for orders, but Erthor shook his head. They could not out rightly attack these orcs at such high odds, they would likely only be captured or killed, and neither of that could improve the Prince's condition, even if he would gladly exchange places with Legolas now.

He watched as a large orc yanked Legolas' head up with his hair and could not stop the gasp when he saw half of the prince's face black with something that looked like… burns? Erthor closed his eyes for a second before scanning the clearing. There had to be a way to save both Legolas and Orthenion. Otherwise, he remembered well what they had been taught during their training, and as Erthor watched the orc press his claws into Legolas' blackened cheek, as he heard Legolas' choked scream, he knew that he might just have to make that call. Death was better than capture. He looked at the eight warriors near him, their eyes reflecting the same thought.

* * *

Idhthrael shoved through her papers, trying to find the small prototype. They had no time to build a new one, so that near perfect attempt had to work. If she changed it just a bit and put in the concoction of _very_ strong sleeping herbs she had made, she was sure that she could cause it to spread those herbs to be spread across a very wide range.

It gleamed in the corner of her table, and she took it, shoving it inside her bag which contained a large vial of those inhalant herbs. Idhthrael smiled to herself, running up the stairs, snatching her bow and quiver along the way, and heading towards the stables. There was a chance that she could get to them, as long as she was alone. She was just mounting her horse when King Thranduil appeared at the stable doors.

"My lord, please, get out of the way," she begged him, noticing that he was alone. If she had to, she could force Arien to gallop straight at him.

The King only smiled at her, handing her a package. " _Miruvor_. You will need it."

She reached to take it, tucking it inside her bag as the King brushed Arien's white mane. "Thank you, my lord."

"Save my son, Idhthrael," the King murmured, locking his grey eyes onto her brown ones. She read clearly the plea there. He could not risk a hundred elves, but he had given her a choice, free from the delays from the Council.

She nodded her head, urging Arien to a canter as the King moved out of the way. Not looking back, she instead took out the device inside her bag to give it some very quick adjustments. Idhthrael had a plan, a fragile one, but it was a plan nevertheless.

* * *

Erthor looked down into the clearing, relieved that the orcs had stopped torturing Legolas and Orphenion for the night. Neither of the two could stand on their own, and if they could not, then attempting to escape would be futile. Of course, Erthor could create a distraction with some of his companions, and have the others aid the two captives, but how did you face the odds of a hundred to one? The likely outcome would be that _some_ orcs would actually be distracted, and the others would have too much fun with Legolas. That was the problem with large groups of orcs, he thought darkly. They had to think of something, _fast_ , Erthor knew, while the attention of those foul creatures was elsewhere. The shadow of night was lifting, and he knew that they would have to follow their journey in the day.

His heart was torn between duty to the kingdom, loyalty to his Captain, and fear for his friend's wellbeing. He glanced down again, watching Legolas lean back on the tree he was tied to, golden hair falling to reveal some of the black burns. The prince was running out of time, and yet they had no way to buy him any.

* * *

She had fed Arien some _miruvor_ to keep her going, although Idhthrael knew that the drink was not meant for horses. It was surprising how fast Arien went afterwards, and now Idhthrael was clinging onto her mane. Darkness had fallen, now she relied solely on the voices of the trees, trusting them to not lead her wrong. The device should now work properly. There was no time to test it, and if it did not function, well, then she would have to find another way. She still had some tricks up her sleeve, but she was not going to fool herself into thinking she could singlehandedly fight off a hundred orcs.

In all honesty, Idhthrael didn't know why she was doing this, risking her life for the elf she had blamed her family's death on. _Had blamed?_ she thought to herself. She still blamed him, didn't she? Idhthrael remembered what Lord Elrond had told her when she told him that she wouldn't drink the cure for grief. _Do not open your heart to anyone, unless you are ready to trust that person with your life, for if it suffers another wound, you will lose your life_. And yet she had trusted Daechir with her life, and she had been wrong.

He was the reason she wanted to leave Rivendell, Idhthrael thought as Arien jumped a fallen log. He had been the kindest person to her over the centuries, and slowly their relationship evolved into something more than a friendship, despite her struggles to not let anyone behind her walls. The day that she had walked into Lord Elrond's office offering to go to Greenwood was when she discovered that he had been manipulating her – if Daechir couldn't find a way to garner Arwen's affections so he could be a Lord, then Idhthrael was the second-best option because Lord Elrond clearly favoured her.

Idhthrael didn't know why she kept the ring he had given her even after she broke the engagement. She finally understood what Lord Elrond had been trying to warn her of, all those centuries ago, and so she had refused any form of friendship. In fact, other than the King, her longest conversations were with Legolas.

She took a bite of the _lembas_ stuffed inside her bag as she tried to sort through her thoughts. Perhaps she kept the ring as a reminder of why she should not let herself get close to anyone. Idhthrael knew that half the reason she had given Legolas her crystal to cure him of the spider's venom was because she was ready to fade, because she simply couldn't care anymore.

Legolas was wrong. She was fading, fading so slowly even she herself could not feel it, and she supposed that she went on this suicidal mission because she at least could save King Thranduil from another blow of grief. At least Greenwood would still stand at the end of the day, even if she did not.

* * *

An orc kicked him awake, and Legolas resisted the urge to scream. His stomach began bleeding out again. He wondered how much longer this would last, wondered how the Valar could design a fate so cruel. Last night he had begged and begged Iluvatar to free him, to not let everything the orcs planned for him come to pass. And of course, he received no answer.

He watched as Orphenion was dragged up. The young warrior had gone unconscious after a nasty hit to the head. There was little chance that he would wake up again, Legolas knew, again feeling the weight of this captivity pulling him down. It had no longer been an interrogation – the orcs were doing this for fun, and since Orphenion couldn't give them any more fun for the moment, their attention was focused on him.

The orc leader shoved Orphenion's lifeless body into Legolas' bound hands. "You get to carry your friend today," it said, yellow eyes gleaming. "If he falls, we kill 'im."

Legolas sent an icy glare at the orc, awkwardly taking the body in his arms, knowing for sure that the orc meant that threat. He felt the noose go around his bruised throat once more, felt the orc pulling him by the rope like some animal. Orphenion's life hung in the balance, and the orc had learned early on that Legolas would not risk the other elf's life. His own life he didn't care much about, but he felt it was his duty to protect those under his charge.

So Legolas followed them without a fight, not knowing that perhaps salvation was nearer than he thought.

* * *

"Woah, easy, Arien," Idhthrael murmured as her horse skidded to a halt. It had been two days of riding without a break, and now she knew they were close to the Southern borders. There was a presence here which had made Arien uneasy. Notching an arrow, she squinted at the canopy before loosing it.

Five seconds later Idhthrael was surrounded by nine warriors, one of whom she recognised. They looked tired and injured but still able to fight as their drawn bows were pointed at her

"Ah, it is good to know it's only you, Erthor," she breathed out, wary of their arrows. "I think you can put those away."

Erthor's eyes scanned her before he put his arrow back in its quiver, the others following. "The orcs are near," he warned her, telling her to be silent. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving the prince," she responded simply, fishing the device out from her bag. All nine of them crowded in around her, some of them glancing around to make sure there was no one else near. " _Don't_ touch it. Throw this into the clearing with the orcs and it should make at least half of them fall unconscious," Idhthrael told them, holding up the wooden ball.

"At least?" one of them asked, sceptical.

"I don't know for sure. It's a prototype, but the King himself told me to do whatever I could, and this is the best I came up with in such a short time. Pure luck let me find you," she admitted. Then she took out several pieces of cloth which had been infused by some herbs. "Breathe through this," she ordered them, giving the pieces out. "It should stop you from fainting."

Erthor took the piece she gave him, but did not let go of her hand. His voice was low, dangerous. "And what is your plan?"

"We throw the ball in the air, hope it takes out as many orcs as possible, and get the prince out. It's easier to do that with half dead orcs. What's inside the ball can cause you to lose consciousness for quite a while."

The other warriors were looking to Erthor for confirmation of what had to be done. It was true that so far they themselves had not been able to figure out anything, they would probably die if this didn't work out, but it was better than hearing Legolas' choked screams for another night. He nodded. "The orcs are less than five minutes away. Last we checked, they've settled down for the night. Idhthrael, I hope you're as good as you think you are."

* * *

Legolas sighed as he was tied to another post. Throughout the day his shattered arm screamed agony at him, his broken ribs from last night's beating were protesting very badly, but he managed not to drop Orphenion. The younger elf who showed no signs of waking worried him. There was still an erratic pulse, but if the elf died, then Legolas would have no reason to stay alive. It was pointless trying to escape. By now he had given up any hope of any rescuers.

The orc leader approached him, Legolas fixing him an icy glare, even if he felt he didn't have much strength left. It was carrying a wicked looking knife with a jagged edge, and he had suspicions of where the blade would be going, but he pushed down the fear eating at him.

"Did you have a good day, elf?" the orc asked, grabbing Legolas' face. Ah, yes, that was another thing. If Legolas managed to live through this, his face would be scarred. Dragonfire was quite different, but wounds left untended, especially as deep as this one, would cause scarring. He would truly be Thranduillion in more than just attitude, Legolas thought bitterly as he held back a scream. It still hurt. _A lot._

Apparently, the orc didn't need an answer. Calling out to the whole clearing to enjoy the show, it sneered at Legolas, pressing the serrated knife on one of his old wounds, causing it to bleed again. "I think I'll have a nice night, elf boy," the orc whispered, his foul breath threatening to suffocate Legolas.

That was when he saw it – a wooden ball flying in the air, which began opening in the way flowers bloom, becoming bigger, bigger and releasing… smoke? He must be delusional, he thought, as the world began to spin. After all, that wasn't unheard of, especially when one was so near to the Halls of Mandos.

But then the cheering of the orcs began to die down, even as he saw yellow spots dancing in his vision, the edges of it turning dark.

Perhaps, he thought as the orc leader's face became blurry and his vision went black, that Iluvatar had finally granted his wishes, and this was what dying felt like.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	12. Hold On

**CarelessMisbehaviour** \- well, you'll see some of that

 **yasminasfeir1** \- I'm glad you liked the chapter, sorry for breaking your heart, there's more of that to come

 **Phox** \- well, I've always thought a genius in Middle Earth would make things far more interesting. It will touch the events of the Hobbit and the War of the Ring. Thanks for reviewing :)

 **frostyhorse** \- thanks for reviewing, glad you liked it :)

Now to the story

* * *

As soon as it flew in the air, Idhthrael held her breath. Not because she was afraid she too would pass out, but because she feared it would not work as expected. It did, though, opening and blooming and releasing green fumes over the clearing, instantly causing orcs to fall as if dead.

They weren't dead, however, and she heard Erthor shouting at his warriors to shoot any orcs still standing. They fell like flies, making Idhthrael smile as she jumped down from her tree, landing on some unfortunate orc's body. No, this was not over yet. The orcs' leader still stood, sawing off Legolas' bonds, using the prince's body as a shield.

She sensed some orcs approaching her, seeing them stagger like drunkards from the corner of her eye. Swinging her bow easily outwards, its metal limbs sliced through their chests, ending their existence.

The fumes cleared a bit, and Idhthrael could see the orc leader holding a knife to Legolas' neck, ordering the elves to stand down. It saw her approaching, sneering at her as arrows continued to rain on them. "Tell your men to stop," it slurred at her, eyes slightly clouded from the effects of the sleeping herbs.

"Let him go," she told him, voice muffled by the cloth covering her face. Seeing the prince up close was horrifying. She would not lie, not to herself, not to Erthor – there was little chance that Legolas could make it out alive, and even if he did, surviving was another thing.

The orc laughed. "I'm not stupid. If I let him go, I die."

"Well," Idhthrael retorted, "that is news to me." In truth she was glancing down at the sleeping orc at her feet which had begun to twitch. Their time was running out.

Growling at her, the orc leader began to back away, stumbling slightly over the fallen body of its comrades, dragging the lifeless form of the prince with him. "I die, he dies too."

Her eyes darted along the tree line, seeing one of Erthor's warriors jump down to free Orphenion, bringing him away. "No," she smiled sweetly at him, notching an arrow on her bow, "I don't think so."

Pressing down on his knife, the orc laughed as a thin line of blood spurted out from Legolas' bruised neck. "Shoot me, then, if you really believe that." Yellow eyes gleamed maliciously at her, black teeth grinning.

But Idhthrael didn't care about that. She took another arrow from her quiver, knowing that the others could not make the shot without endangering the prince. All around the clearing, orcs were stirring, she thought as she let out a breath, numbers running through her head. Tilting one arrow slightly, Idhthrael noticed how the leader's eyes were dancing around, ready to slice the throat beneath his knife if she should loosen her arrow.

"You are handsome," she suddenly said to him.

The orc frowned, attention wavering for a few seconds. "What?"

In that second she let loose her arrows, smirking as she watched one strike the orc in its hand, causing him to drop the blade, and the other in its head. Both Legolas and the orc crumpled to the ground, but she ran forward, catching the prince before he hit it, preventing any additional hurt.

Immediately her hand sought his neck, checking for a pulse. There was one, however weak and erratic. Slinging her bow on her back, she ducked as she heard an arrow fly overhead, striking an orc that was waking up. Quickly gathering the prince in her arms, she ran for cover, careful not to jostle the limp body too much.

* * *

Erthor was already waiting in the small clearing not far from the orc camp when Idhthrael entered it. He and some other warriors took Legolas from her arms, gently laying him on the grass.

"We can't stay here." Idhthrael told them before whistling for Arien. Looking at Orphenion's still form, she asked, "how is he?"

The warrior tending to him shook her head. "We were too late."

Idhthrael said nothing, pushing away any emotions. Feelings were of no use here. Instead, she kneeled on the ground to get a better look at Legolas. His condition was critical, but she would not lose him too. She heard Erthor telling them to prepare to move out, to bring Orphenion's body so they could give him a proper burial. Ignoring him, she reached out, placing her hand on the prince's forehead, willing her energy to go into him, dismayed at what she found.

"He's fading quickly," she murmured, looking up at Erthor. "The palace is too far."

"You could save Celegorm's life," Erthor said, his voice wavering with emotion. "You can save him too."

"It was a different situation," she begged him to understand, even as Arien entered the clearing. "And the prince suffers more than just physical wounds."

"Go," said another warrior who was bandaging a reopened cut on his lower leg. "Ride your horse, and bring our prince back to the palace. We'll be able to make it there on our own. You told us King Thranduil himself trusted you, so we trust you." The others nodded. "If anyone on Arda can help bring him back, it's you."

Idhthrael looked away. She was no Valar, no Maiar, to be able to work any miracles, but she would try. Giving up meant letting the orcs win, so she gently lifted Legolas' body, mounting him on Arien with Erthor's help. Erthor caught her eyes staring at Orphenion. "We'll give him a proper burial as soon as we get far away enough."

She nodded, about to leave when she remembered something from the books of lore in Imladris. "Wait," she suddenly said, as she mounted her horse behind Legolas, her arm holding him steady in place. "Are the legends true?"

"What legends?" they asked her, confused.

"Does the Brown Wizard live in these woods?"

They looked at one another. "So they say, in the Southern parts of the forest."

She smiled at them. "Then there is hope." Glancing at the canopy above, Idhthrael noticed that night was quickly falling. "Be careful, the orcs are waking up," she warned, before pressing on Arien's side, causing her to gallop away from the clearing.

* * *

Thranduil paced in his study. He knew it was an unkingly thing to do, but he could not stop himself. Idhthrael had been gone for five days, and it was the Council's decision that she was enough to rescue Legolas. Yet, the feeling that something bad was going to happen did not ease in his chest. In fact, Thranduil could no longer find rest. Heading out onto the balcony, he leaned on its railing, clutching at it until his palms hurt, the King resisted growling in frustration.

If Legolas did not come back, he did not know what would happen, and if he did come back only to die, Thranduil was sure that all hell would break out. Making up his mind, he called for Galion, who, as always, arrived within seconds. "Write a letter to Lord Elrond of Rivendell," he told the other elf. "Ask him to come."

Galion bowed his head in assent, even if the King's back was to him. "For medical assistance, my lord?"

"Yes," Thranduil whispered as he felt something pierce his heart from the inside and he had to lean on the railing for support. The crown had rarely felt so heavy on his head, for if duty did not hold him back, he would be down there, beneath the leaves, searching.

Instantly, Galion was at his side, holding him up. "Is anything wrong, my lord?" he asked when he saw the King's pale face.

Thranduil met his eyes. It was a sign of utmost trust that he did not send Galion away right then and there. "No," he said in a haunted voice. "Not with me."

* * *

The hand she had kept on his neck's pulse probed deeper, pressing in a desperate attempt to find a heartbeat as her other hand pulled on Arien's mane. Her horse stopped in front of a large oak, the one the trees had been trying to lead her to. Idhthrael lifted Legolas off the horse, carefully laying him on the soft grass to check his vitals, sighing in relief as she found his heart still fluttering, still fighting.

What she did not understand was this. They were in a clearing, the last of the sun's rays disappearing. Why did the trees lead them here? This was no wizard's cottage.

Leaving Legolas near Arien after feeding him a sip of _miruvor_ , Idhthrael approached the large oak tree, placing her palms flat on the rough bark. _Help me, please_ , she reached her thoughts out to the tree, _your prince is dying, you must help him_. But there was no response. "Come _on_ ," she whispered, glancing back at Legolas' still form. He would die out here without treatment, no matter how much strength she gave him. "There must be a reason why you led me here!" Idhthrael shouted, slamming her hand onto the bark, hissing as it cut her. "You _must_ help! He's _dying!_ "

Of course, there was no reply. Cursing, she turned around, intent on leaving when suddenly – "that won't help you know."

An arrow was notched in her bow within seconds, aimed at the old man standing near Legolas' body. He had a long, wavy, white beard which had animal droppings tangled inside them, an old hat, and a funny staff. Idhthrael frowned, cringing. "Who are you?"

"You said somebody was dying," the old man replied, a senile smile on his face. Lifting his brown hat from which two birds flew out, he quickly put it back on. "You can put that down," he murmured as the birds returned bringing some leaves.

She approached him slowly. "Are you the Brown Wizard? Radagast?"

He whistled, fiddling with the crystal on his staff telling the twittering birds to quiet down. "Yes, yes. Now, you are right, he is dying."

Putting the arrow back into her quiver, she knelt in front of him, Arien nudging her shoulders. "Can you help?"

"Perhaps," the wizard answered, plucking a branch from a nearby tree. "Oh, dear, he's really in a bad condition."

" _Do something!_ " she commanded as she felt Legolas' heart stutter again, not caring if he was an Istari or not. It was getting dark, and Idhthrael did not have the patience to wait any longer, not when spiders were lurking these territories.

The wizard was now talking to the oak tree she had been shouting at. "What is it? How do we make it appear again? There was a spell…"

She ignored him, snatching the _miruvor_ from her bag. Too much of the substance could burn you up, giving you too much energy, but she hardly thought it mattered now. She heard Radagast exclaim in delight. She would kill him if it was some crazy magic trick.

Looking up for a second, she saw that she was now kneeling outside a cottage – a brown cottage which looked as if it would fall down any moment. There was a fire inside it, she noticed through the windows as she glanced up at the almost dark sky overhead. It would have to do. They desperately needed shelter and medicine. Just as Idhthrael was about to begin moving Legolas' body, she heard a hitch in his breath.

"No, don't you dare," she hissed at him, her fingers on his chest pouring energy into him. His body jerked, heaving in another breath before it let it go again. " _Radagast!_ " she yelled at the wizard.

The door to the cottage swung open with a loud creak, the wizard's head poking innocently out of it. "What?"

She looked at the _Maia,_ eyes begging him to do something. "He's not breathing."

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	13. Tatters

**yasminasfeir1** \- I can stop anywhere I want to *evil laughter* :)

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- you're right in the sense that I used Radagast because otherwise it would be a bit unrealistic of Idhthrael and Radagast was a joy to write :D

 **Phox** \- religiously speaking, I don't think there are any priests, except for one mention of priest-kings in the Silmarillion in ME, so there is no religious hell, but figuratively speaking, when talking about a place full of unpleasant things, fire, pain and etc., Angband fits quite well, and it is a place elves still fear even in the Third Age. Depends on your definition of hell. (I'll stop here before I geek out too much about it) In my case, I was using the figurative, unpleasant place. And thanks for the review, glad you liked it :)

Anyways, here's the story.

* * *

Blinking slowly as his sluggish mind tried to understand what was happening, what was tapping insistently on his head, Legolas attempted to sit up, only to feel pain lance through his whole body and a bird flapping its wings in his face. _A bird?_ he thought, confused. He tried moving his arm, but something was holding it. Something black. Where was he? Clearly, this was not the Halls of Mandos, so where were the orcs?

Suddenly the black thing holding his arm moved, and he laughed at himself. It was hair, and, he realised, abruptly feeling unamused again, that meant someone was here with him. Pushing himself into a defensive position, Legolas was ready to strike out when a hand caught his fist.

"Whoa, stop it right there. I did not just save you to have you killing yourself again."

" _Idhthrael?_ " he asked, vision beginning to unblur. It seemed that he was in an old cottage, with bird nests in its ceiling, animals hiding here and there, shelves full of potions and books and plants. There was a window next to the mattress he was lying down in, a fireplace near it. "Where are we?"

She stretched, her face looking worn. "Radagast the Brown's cottage. He's outside tending to some rabbits."

He nodded, his head dizzy. There was a cup in his vision now. "Drink this," Idhthrael ordered. "It will help with the headache." When he was about to take it, she stopped him. "No, let me," she firmly said, tipping its contents into his parched throat. "I took out the orcs with some help," Idhthrael told him so he would not have to ask. "Erthor and some others were there, they're heading to the palace. This is your fourth time waking up since, although you weren't aware of much last time."

When Legolas only stared ahead, she stood up from her seat, pouring him a glass of water from an old barrel, hiding from him the fact that all of her energy was drained from sleepless nights when his screaming filled the cottage, when memories overpowered his senses. "Your face will heal," she tried breaking the silence, "I don't know what Radagast did, but he somehow made it better."

Legolas looked at her, his good arm reaching up to touch the bandages on his face. "And what about my hand?"

She cast her eyes down to the floor. "I can't lie to you." He only kept looking at her so Idhthrael went on, putting the glass on a shelf for fear of breaking it. Biting her lip nervously, she began, "Radagast couldn't do much about it and neither could I, but there _is_ a chance that it could heal. A rather large chance."

He nodded, surprising her with how well he took the information. "And Orphenion?"

Idhthrael closed her eyes, looking away. "No. He didn't make it."

For a moment there was more silence as Legolas leaned back on the hard pillows, looking at the forest outside the window and Idhthrael tended to a fire that didn't need tending. Legolas wondered why he got to live when that young warrior, so full of loyalty to him, to the kingdom, so full of goodness, had to die at the hands of orcs, while he did not. He had no more right to life than Orphenion did.

"Why did you save me?" Legolas asked quietly, still looking out of the window. When Idhthrael did not answer, he repeated the question, growling it.

She rose from in front of the fireplace, glaring at him, crossing her arms. "You need sleep. Are we playing this game again, now?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, a stark difference from her earlier softness.

He did not care about the change, though. "I was as good as dead, why did you risk your life and the lives of other elves to get me out when you couldn't get Orphenion out? _Why?_ "

"We got him out too," she began slowly, knowing that her usual brusqueness would do no help, "but the damage was too extensive."

Legolas turned his empty blue eyes at her. "And my damage wasn't extensive enough?" he coldly asked.

"Would you rather I left you _dead?_ " she incredulously shot back, barely managing to not shout, her forehead creased into a frown, mouth agape in anger and confusion, breathing hard to calm down. Even if she understood why he asked her, she was worn out, her patience thin.

" _Yes!_ " he yelled at her, groaning as he tried to sit up properly. When he could not, he sighed in defeat. What use was he alive if he couldn't move his arm? His damaged face he could live with, but he was a _soldier_ and without his arm, what was he? If he couldn't save just a single elf from death, what use was he?

Idhthrael looked at him with wide eyes. "You don't mean that," she whispered to him. "You _cannot_ mean that."

"Why not?" he asked her, blue eyes flashing. His jaw was clenched, both from pain and from irritation.

She turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How can you be so selfish?" she hissed at him. "Just because there's a chance that your arm is irreparable, you would cause your father to suffer the grief of your death?" Idhthrael had turned around again by now, approaching the bed Legolas was lying in. "I thought you were better than that," snarling, she told him.

"And what am I supposed to do?" the prince shouted back. "I am a _warrior_. I don't have a mind like yours to help my kingdom, I have no tact to be a good diplomat, I can't even do a trade agreement right. So tell me, what good am I to _anyone_ if I am broken, if I can't save a single elf's life? He was so _young_ , Idhthrael. He didn't deserve that."

There was raw hurt, raw fear in his eyes which made Idhthrael close her own for a few seconds. She understood that he was scared of what was to come, that the times he had gone through was unimaginably cruel, and yet this fear made him a coward. "Don't you dare – don't you dare for one second tell me that all you are is a bow and two knives. You are more than a weapon to the kingdom! Do you think that those elves love their prince only because he is a good killer?" she hurled the words at him, hoping her anger could make him see sense. "Do you think that they adore you only because you can shoot a needle from twenty leagues away?"

"Perhaps," Legolas admitted. His arm was throbbing again, and yet it was nothing compared to the doubt, the hopelessness, the memories eating him from inside. He knew that his father would care for him whatever happened, but a King needed a strong Prince, and right now, he was anything but strong.

"There are other ways to fight battles, Legolas," she said softly to him, not realising that she had just called him by his name, as she sat down on the chair beside his bed. It was a rickety, dusty thing, like most things in Radagast's cottage, but it served its purpose. "I know you don't want me to give you a wooden arm."

"No," Legolas agreed, unable to look into her eyes. He didn't want pity. You couldn't fix anything with it.

"No, I don't pity you," Idhthrael said, as if she had read his mind. "You don't deserve any. Pity is for the powerless," she murmured as a bird landed on her shoulders and she smiled at it. "There are other ways to find battles. It's not always the body or the mind."

He looked at her now, meeting her eyes, desperately searching for an answer, for some indication that the future was bearable. "What else is there, then?"

"The heart, Legolas. That is what your people love you for. That is what Orphenion stayed loyal to. Do not dishonor his death by blaming yourself, for he chose his own path, and what the Valar intend, we cannot know." She saw the blue eyes widen a bit, and she smiled sadly. Unclasping the chain of the necklace he had given her, she let it slither through her hands and onto his bandaged ones. "Death is for cowards," she told him. "Forget what happened, if you desire to, but you will not die. You nearly did," she paused for a moment looking into his eyes, showing him exactly how close it had been, how hard she struggled to keep him from going, "yet you fought on. There is a reason why you didn't let go so easily when you knew the pain of coming back."

He let his eyes fall to the teardrop crystal, taking in her words, before looking back at Idhthrael who had stood up again. "It's yours, I don't want it back."

She raised an eyebrow. "You might not want it, but you may need it. Besides, I don't need it anymore." Now she took a piece of _lembas_ from her bag, handing some to him. "Eat," she commanded. "If you want to go home sooner, you need your strength."

Taking it with his good hand, he nibbled at it, not really having an appetite. "Why do you stay?" he asked, his eyes haunted. In truth, Legolas was clinging unto her presence, needing an answer, a reason why when the world was so dark they had to go on, what the point of going on even was. He rarely lost his will to live, but times in captivity could change the way you thought, and even if he was aware of that, he found it hard to hold on.

"Lord Elrond always told me," Idhthrael slowly said, picking up a wooden carving of a leaf from a shelf as she swallowed the last of her _lembas_ , turning it in her hands, "that there is some good in the world, and it's worth fighting for."

"What good do you see?"

She raised the leaf into the light gazing at it, shrugging slightly. "You, the King, the elves, the ancient love hidden in these lands. There is good in your hearts."

Legolas chuckled, shaking his hurting head. This girl who seemed to hate the world for all its cruelty to her saw more good in it than he did. He looked at her curiously. "Why are you being so nice?"

Suddenly the brown of her eyes were no longer warm. "An elf once told me to stay for the right reasons. Find your reason again, my prince." Grabbing her bow without looking at him, letting the leaf clatter to the floor, she walked away. "You need to rest now. I've kept you talking long enough. Don't make me have to knock you out."

"Idhthrael!" he shouted after her, making his throat hurt, as she went through the door. "What did I do?"

She turned around for a moment, her eyes infinitely sad. "It's not what you did. It's what the world did."

"Then why stay?" he asked her again, unable to comprehend.

"That's for you to answer," she whispered before disappearing behind a closed door.

She was really one hellstorm of a girl, Legolas thought to himself, and as he stared at the door she left through, he realised that he too lost in battles of the heart, for he could not deny the feelings in his chest anymore. Even if she would not accept them, Legolas knew that he had found his reason to stay.

* * *

Leaning on the closed door, Idhthrael ran her hand through her hair, letting out a heavy breath. She titled her head back until it hit the wood, closing her eyes. That had gone very differently from what she had planned. And yet the raw feeling in Legolas' eyes made her think of her own past, of the words she had needed to hear at that time. The sleepless nights she had spent – it had been six days – was catching up to her. Elves could go on for a long time without resting, but they, too had their limits. Rubbing her hand over her bleary eyes, Idhthrael looked up at the bright green canopy above where sunlight filtered through.

She feared she was becoming attached to the prince, and attachment was _not_ good. Daechir had grown close to her, and where had that taken her? In truth, she didn't know if she could still trust the world, those words she told Legolas about there being some good left were not ones she fully believed in. But she did believe that there _was_ good in the Greenwood. Legolas, he just looked so fragile. There was a loneliness in him, she had realised as she tended to him, which was similar to hers, yet so very different.

 _Valar_ , she thought to herself. She wanted to get to know him better, to somehow find out what made him laugh, what made him smile, because despite what she made everyone think, she liked making people happy. She hated seeing people destroyed by grief and loneliness like she herself had been. When Legolas was screaming in his nightmares for the orcs to stop hurting him, she had sat down and began to awkwardly comb his hair with her fingers, murmuring soothing words, and when he had finally calmed down, she noticed that even if half of his face was bandaged, he _was_ handsome. Blushing at the memory, she tried to forget. These feelings had once destroyed her, when Daechir had – _no_. She would not think about what was over. Another voice in her mind, which she squashed down firmly, told her that Legolas was different, that being close with Lord Elrond's family never hurt her.

If what King Thranduil had said was true, that Legolas was _fond_ of her, what then? Her mind threw her an image of herself as a princess, wearing dresses, smiling at members of the court with gold bracelets and thin slippers. Immediately, she snorted at the ridiculousness of it

 _Or perhaps_ , Idhthrael thought as she saw Radagast returning with a hedgehog on his shoulder, mushrooms in his hand, _I am just going crazy_.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	14. Needs

**yasminasfeir1** \- It's actually explained in this chapter, but basically, he just doesn't want to think about it yet.

 **Phox** \- thanks, here's the next chapter :)

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- I hinted in the first chapter about this story, or at least this part of the story, being in the ending of the Watchful Peace. Following the timeline of the books, it is around 600 something years before the Hobbit and the Fellowship, which is why Legolas is less collected than he is in those books/movies.

Okay, so I might start updating once every two or three days instead of once every day because my syllabuses for next semester of university have come out and I really need to study cause I'm taking a hell lot of subjects, but I will definitely keep updating this story since I do need breaks from study and writing is how I take a break.

Anyways, here's the story.

* * *

Gently peeling off the bandage from Legolas' face, Idhthrael tried to ignore the way he involuntarily flinched. She winced, seeing that the skin was still trying to close itself up, but it was an ugly thing. Behind her, Radagast was tinkering with his staff's crystals muttering questions about why it didn't work. Rolling her eyes, she ignored him.

"It is that bad?" Legolas asked, seeing her distress. It had been four days since the first time he woke up coherent and he felt much better already after his elven healing began to work.

She shook her head, her fingers reaching up to touch the burnt tissue, but he jerked back, his shoulders bumping rather harshly against the window frame. "I'm sorry, I just thought – "

"It's alright," she murmured, and her touch was gentle as she put some salve on it. "Just memories. Your cheek is healing, it just needs time. Like you. You just need time."

Legolas let out a shaky breath. He had done this before, he had overcome the same pain, he could do it again. "And my arm?" he cautiously questioned.

Ignoring him for a moment, she checked on his ribs, and the lacerations on his back. They were almost completely healed, which was excellent because Idhthrael wanted to leave today. Her hands now probed his crushed arm, feeling the discord of muscles in it.

It was never good to lie to a patient, to give them false hope, and yet, Legolas was clinging to such a thin strand. So she settled on saying, "it's too early to tell."

He took it stoically, only nodding in response, remembering their last long conversation clearly. "Thank you," Legolas told her sincerely, watching as she packed things inside her bag. There were many things to think about if his arm didn't heal, but right now he didn't want to think about any of it, not so soon after the events, not when there was still hope. Casting his thoughts to more pleasant things, the prince tried to be happy. He knew that they were finally leaving for home, but he was worried. "Are you alright, Idhthrael?"

"What makes you think – " she was cut short by the banging of the door as Radagast left the cottage, "– I'm not?" The wizard had been of much help, but he had also been very absentminded too, leaving unexpectedly in hunt of some bird or whatever mushroom he was eating. While Idhthrael was given medical training in Rivendell, she only cared about the herbs she used for her experiments, though it seemed to be enough in this case. Besides, what Legolas needed most now that his injuries were healing was company. Hopefully, when they got back, he would have enough people falling over their heels trying to give him that.

"I'm not stupid, Idhthrael," Legolas admonished, trying to stand up so he could talk to her properly. It seemed, though, that his legs were not cooperating, and he stumbled, grabbing hold of a shelf which creaked under the strain of holding him up.

Scoffing at him, she eased him back on the bed. "Really? Were you trying to contradict yourself?"

"No," he groaned, leaning back on the pillows. There was still a whiff of parchment and ink coming from her. Studying her movements once more, the way her hands faltered slightly as she reached for a vial on a table, the bleary, pale look she had, there was definitely something wrong with her. "Although my father likes to tell me I'm a lost cause."

She smiled to herself. "Only your father? It seems to me that at the rate you're going, getting yourself into scrapes, more people should find you a hopeless cause, especially since you're such a horrible patient."

A soft chuckle came from Legolas, making her glad that she had taken his mind off the haunting images. "Yes," he dryly told her, "all the healers are traumatised by their encounter with me."

"And that is no wonder," she said as she handed him a glass of water, her face illuminated by the small smile she had.

There were shadows beneath her eyes though, Legolas noticed, so he could not help asking her. "What was it that you did," he began, knowing that it would spark another outburst but needing something to distract him from his own thoughts, "when you saved me?"

Her brown eyes looked at him as she put the last thing she needed in her bag which she left by the door. "Everything I had to."

"Why?"

"Your father all but begged me to save you," she told him, watching as emotions flashed through his blue eyes for a second.

"Oh _, Ada_ ," Legolas breathed out. He never meant to make him worry, really, and the thought of his father only made him want to go home faster. "When are we leaving?"

Looking out of the window, Idhthrael replied, "soon. The day only started. It should take us one day of very hard riding to get back to the palace." Then she walked over to the bed, crouching so that their eyes were level with each other. "Remember our agreement. I am only your healer now, when we get back to the palace, you will stay away from me."

"Why?" Legolas asked again, truly frustrated. She seemed happy just now. "Why do you not accept any form of companionship? Why do you have to be so cold to the world?"

"The last time I let somebody close to me," she quietly murmured as she walked away, "I trusted him with my heart, and he threw it away like it was garbage."

"Valar, Idhthrael, the ring?" he asked, realisation dawning. Sitting up, he tried to command his legs to hold his weight, but they would not.

He watched as she stared into the fire of the hearth, all he could see of her was her waterfall of dark hair and her black riding boots. There was an edge in her voice when she spoke. "It turned out that he was only trying to find power, and if he could not marry Arwen, then, well, they called me Elrond's second daughter."

"I would never do that to you," Legolas swore, his fingers gripping the sheets of the bed in anger at the elf who did this to her.

Idhthrael turned around, one side of her lip curling into a bitter smile. "That's what he said too. So if you do care for me, Prince Legolas, leave me alone."

He looked at her, taking in her sad features, glimpsing the storms which raged inside of her. Her hair, he realised, turned a pretty shade of reddish brown if hit by the sunlight in the right angle, and the way she let a squirrel climb up her arm, taking comfort in its presence, was endearing. Legolas realised then just how lonely she was. "That is exactly what you don't need, Idhthrael," he told her. _And exactly what I don't need either_ , he added to himself.

Scanning through Radagast's shelves, she scoffed at him again. "And if I have as many friends as you do," she said, meeting his eyes as her hand took a glass vial from a table, "will I be as lonely as you are?" As soon as the words came out, she knew she should not have said that, no matter how tired she was. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." In truth, she was basically dead on her feet, her mind had always been too loud to give her an easy sleep, and these last two months of trying to adjust here, where ghosts haunted her more than ever, were particularly taxing on her, even if she was aware that that was no excuse for lashing out at the prince.

The question left Legolas flustered, unable to reply for a few seconds, even if he knew she wasn't expecting one. "It's the price of my duty to the kingdom," he finally answered in a steady voice. "Being a prince is not easy, whatever you may believe."

Idhthrael walked towards him carrying a cup of funny smelling liquid, her heart at war. She really, truly, wanted to believe that there was a chance of her having a family again here where she was born, just as she had been given a second chance at having one when she went to Rivendell. But it was of her own volition that she abandoned them, and you weren't given third chances.

"Prove yourself to me," she finally said, not meeting his eyes as she held the cup out for him to drink, "we live too long to say never."

He wanted to reply, but as soon as he finished downing the whole cup with minimal gagging at its vile taste, Legolas felt lightheaded. "What did you put in there?"

"We're going back to the palace, I never said you would be awake for it. This will save both of us a great deal of pain," she whispered, her hand on his head easing him back onto the mattress of the bed as his eyes slid shut. "Because the emotions you make me feel are simply too dangerous."

* * *

It was in the early hours of dawn, when the palace gates were still shut, that Thranduil found his contemplations disturbed by a rapid knocking at the door. If another one of his advisors had come again to try and persuade him to find some rest, they would find the door slammed in their face.

"Come in," he said wearily, putting down his glass of wine, remembering the state in which Erthor and his band of warriors had returned. His heart would find no rest until Legolas came home.

Galion entered the room, looking as if he had just run some distance. "My lord, forgive me for disturbing you but, please, you must open the gates."

Thranduil was immediately alert. "Legolas?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, not daring to hope.

When Galion nodded, he only paused to order him to wake Lord Elrond and the healers before he was out of his room and walking as fast as he could through the corridors. A King was not supposed to run like a berserk orc, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how empty the halls were at this hour.

As soon as the gates were within his eyesight, he commanded them to open in the name of the King. The guards bowed their heads as they swung wide, revealing a white horse with two figures on its back. Surging forward to meet them, Thranduil found himself greeting, with trepidation, a half-conscious Idhthrael who was hugging Legolas' slumped body close to her

"He's alive," she mumbled to the King as he eased his son from her tight grip, Thranduil looking back to see several healers rushing to them with stretchers. Relief was coursing through his very being, and he could not be more thankful to her.

In the dim light, the King could not see to full extent Legolas' injuries, but the darker colour of his cheek's skin and the presence of the bandages wrapping around his chest and arm was clear to Thranduil, who pursed his lips in worry as he laid him on a stretcher, watching as the healers took his son away.

"Thank you," he told Idhthrael sincerely.

A small smile was his only reply before her eyes slid beneath their lids, and her limp body began falling off her horse. Deftly, Thranduil caught her, flinching slightly at its unnatural coldness. There was something wrong with the girl, that much he knew, for he felt her connection to the world wavering.

The healers took her, placing her on a stretcher too, but this time, their King followed them to the healing wards, Thranduil holding to the faith that Lord Elrond would be able to cure the both of them.

Otherwise, he feared what was to come.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	15. Home

**frostyhorse** \- glad you liked it :)

 **BlackWolf888** \- I've almost finished studying one syllabus, so I hope I'll be able to make faster updates, but I can't promise anything. I'll try give something for you as soon as possible :D

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- well, then I hope you like where it goes :)

 **yasminasfeir1** \- yeah, Thranduil, just like all the other characters, was very fun to write and explore :)

This chapter is quite a bit longer than the previous ones. I hope that makes up for the delay in posting, although I can't always promise long chapters. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

This time, when he blinked away the fogginess clouding his brain, Legolas found himself staring not at any birds or mouldy brown roofs, but at a very high, white ceiling. Smiling, the looked to his right where his father was curled up in a red armchair next to his bed, sleeping peacefully. He was _home_.

Naturally, he tried pushing himself up, groaning slightly in pain, even if it had become considerably less. There was light streaming from the window beside his bed. The healers had long ago learned that putting him next to one would pacify him and his need for fresh, open air for longer, delaying his escapes from the healing ward. Closed, white curtains separated him from looking around the room, so there was nothing else to do other than watch his father sleeping rather peacefully, and resist falling back into sleep, for fear of what dreams may come. His eyes were closed, Legolas noticed, feeling guilt bubble in him, knowing he was the cause of such exhaustion.

Seeing his father this vulnerable was a strange thing, Legolas pondered, trying to remember the last time his father's cold outer mask was let down. Five centuries since the death of his mother, and there were times when he longed for some form of fatherly affection. There were times when he understood why Thranduil kept that distance, for fear that the coldness within him might hurt Legolas, but Legolas did not know how to feel about that. Sighing to himself, he decided that the topic was not exactly the best of things to think about now.

Casting his thoughts elsewhere, he began counting the candles on the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, even if he knew, from his frequent residence here, that there were exactly fifty seven. After some time, his attention shifted to the many bundles of flower placed on the bedside table, surrounding the medicine placed there. He began naming them one by one out of boredom.

"From your admirers," an unexpected voice interrupted his efforts.

His father's eyes were open, and Legolas smiled at him. " _Ada_."

Thranduil was out of his chair in seconds, sitting at the edge of the white bed, his added weight barely bending the mattress as he slowly reached out to stroke Legolas' uninjured cheek. " _Ion nin_." Then he pulled Legolas close to him, mindful of his healing wounds. "Don't _ever_ do that to me again."

For a moment, Legolas flinched at the contact, body tensing as the past assaulted him, but he relaxed in his father's familiar hold, breathing in his woodland scent. It was one which he missed. "You know I can't promise you that, _Ada_."

His father broke the embrace to hold him at arm's length. Legolas cast his eyes down, knowing that he was looking at the burn mark, but Thranduil lifted his chin so he would look at him. "Legolas," he said softly, "remember when I showed you my scar?"

"Yes," the younger elf answered, finding it difficult to meet his father's eyes.

But Thranduil pierced his son's blue eyes with his grey ones. "You didn't care, and now I don't either. If I ever look at it in disgust, it is because I am angry at the orcs, disgusted at the vile things they do."

"Oh, _Ada_ ," he breathed in relief, sinking back into his father's warm hold. "I'm sorry."

Resting his chin on his son's golden head for a moment, Thranduil let himself be a father for just a little longer, he needed it, and he owed it to Legolas. "It's never your fault, _ion nin_."

* * *

Lord Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at the still figure of Idhthrael on the white bed, blanket covering her body, hair splayed across the pillow, making her look paler. Really, he didn't know what she was thinking. She _knew_ that even elves needed rest, and when she had groggily woken up just now, murmuring something about Legolas, the elf lord became worried.

The prince had woken up half an hour ago, and Elrond had made sure that both he and his father were alright, while skirting the topic of Idhthrael. Something told him that things would not be well if Legolas found that she had nearly fallen into a comatose state several times since they arrived very early yesterday morning, hence why he had ordered the curtains around his bed to be closed. Of course, knowing the errant prince, he would try to wander the wards soon, giving them all a whole new set of problems.

Placing his hand gently on Idhthrael's forehead, he tried calling her back again. Rest would heal her, after all, that was what she had been lacking for a long time, but he had to make sure she did not lose herself and slip away from the world in that rest. She was gaining more strength, her hands less cold than they were yesterday. Seeing her so peaceful gave Elrond a sense of peace too, for he had grown very fond of her and her singular nature which challenged his intellect. _Come back, Idhthrael,_ he begged her, giving her some of his own strength, _for you are still needed here, there are those who love you still, if only you would see_.

His efforts were rewarded with a stronger heartbeat, a flicker of movement behind her closed eyelids, the skin beneath his palm warming. Taking his brew of _athelas_ tea from the bedside table, he carefully raised her head, tipping its contents into her mouth before sitting on the armchair provided to him by Iorveldir. The head healer was busy checking on those remaining from the contingent of warriors Legolas had led, most of whom were ready for release.

Smoothing back Idhthrael's dark hair, which now had a brownish shade in the presence of the sunlight streaming in from the windows, Elrond found himself wondering where his twin sons were. They had insisted on coming with him when another elf insisted on coming too. _Perhaps_ , the Lord of Rivendell thought as he looked at Idhthrael's pale face, _it is good if you have your sleep before you face him_.

* * *

Legolas glared stubbornly at Elrond. "There's a reason why you keep them closed," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the curtains, agitated that he was made to sit in bed when his body felt fine. Well, except for his arm which was healing very slowly, if it was even healing at all. "Who else is in here?"

"Patience, Legolas," admonished the elf lord while inwardly cursing the prince's insightfulness. "Now, give me your arm." After probing it for several seconds Elrond asked, "Does it still hurt? The truth, please."

"A bit," mumbled the prince. When Elrond kept looking at him with suspicion, he sighed. "More than a bit, but less than yesterday."

"That's good."

"Is it?" he asked sarcastically, leaning back onto the pillows. Unlike the ones in Radagast's cottage, these were very soft and fluffy.

The other elf had let go of his arm, now standing near the bedside table, tinkering with some herbs there. "Does your cheek still pain you?"

Red marks still mottled the skin around his left cheek, though they had ceased to pain him for some time already. It had been five days since he came back, Legolas thought, rolling his eyes at everyone who treated him like he was made of glass. Of course, he understood their worry, but it was becoming too much. "No," he sighed.

"Good. Here, some salve, hopefully it will make the marks go. Otherwise, I'll teach you what I taught your father," Elrond told him, handing a wooden bowl filled with greenish cream inside it as he walked over to the chair Thranduil had only recently vacated for other duties. Clasping his hands in his lap, he carefully began. "Now, Legolas, what about the dreams?"

As soon as the question was out, Legolas' eyes turned dark. He gnawed the inside of his mouth, trying to shut out the pain it made him feel, the horror which still lingered, even now. The salve in his hands was forgotten even as they clenched the bowl so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I've heard your screams at night, Legolas," he heard Elrond say gently. "Would you like to talk about it?"

For a second Legolas had to close his eyes, hoping to chase the memories away. He felt something touch his arm, and by instinct he jerked away, fear giving birth to adrenaline, making him ready to punch his assailant when his eyes flew open to see Elrond cautiously pulling his hand away. Breathing hard, the prince sought to calm himself down. "No. I'm not ready yet."

"It does not have to be with me," Elrond reminded as he looked at the distressed elf in front of him. The shadows beneath Legolas' eyes told him that the prince was definitely not getting enough sleep. Hoping to cheer him up a bit, he told him, "tomorrow, if you're better, you can be free of this ward."

Legolas only nodded, glancing outside the slightly open window, enjoying the gentle caress of the breeze coming in, the scent of flowers in the springtime, the sunlight he had missed during his captivity. "Thank you, Lord Elrond," he said sincerely.

"There is no need for titles, you know that, Legolas," the older elf replied, about to call Iorveldir to accompany the prince for a moment – it was dangerous to leave patients who had gone through traumatic events alone – when he was stopped by a question.

"How is Idhthrael?"

Elrond paused, his back turned to the bed. "She's sleeping."

"Could you tell her hello for me?" Legolas pleaded. He truly missed her presence, because, somehow, with her, he felt comfortable being himself. She was a friend who was both close and not close with him, one he trusted, for she had cared for him in Radagast's cottage, and he had seen that she was not what the world believed her to be. Her bluntness made him truthful with himself, but it seemed she was intent on avoiding him, even when he expected her to visit him at least _once_. It hurt, for some reason.

"Of course," was Lord Elrond's only reply before he left, only to be replaced by Iorveldir a few seconds later.

* * *

When she clawed her way back to awareness, Idhthrael heard a familiar voice calling her to the light. It was with much difficulty that she opened her heavy eyelids to see a blurry blackish blob in front of her. Blinking several times to clear her vision, she found herself smiling. "El," she sighed him, her foggy mind not quite sure which twin it was.

"Here," the twin said, lifting her head slightly to tip some vile liquid into her mouth.

Almost immediately, her vision cleared, headache gone. "Ugh. Your drinks keep getting worse, Elladan."

"And your recklessness has reached hopeless levels," he retorted, placing the cup on the table. After shifting the thick drapes of the window open slightly so sunlight could come in without blinding her, he dragged the armchair next to her bed closer, seeing how her eyes darted around to figure out why the room was so white. "You're in the healing wards, it's been five horribly long days," admonished Elladan. "Elrohir has gone to fetch _Ada_ , and you are not to get out of bed until he allows you to."

Trying to peek through the gap of the partially closed curtains surrounding her bed, she tried to see the rest of the ward. "Legolas?"

Elladan sighed. "He's fine. _Ada_ says he can leave tomorrow if all is well, even if his arm hasn't fully healed yet."

"Sorry for worrying you," she told him, not looking particularly contrite. "I couldn't sleep, his screams, El, I couldn't leave Legolas alone with only a mad wizard for company."

He looked at her before giving her the smile which meant he gave up. "I know you did it for a good reason, but you can't keep pushing yourself. We're elves, but sooner or later our bodies can fail too."

"What if I can't sleep?" Then, in a smaller voice she admitted, "since I left Rivendell I haven't been able to find rest. The memories are everywhere, and I need to work to forget them." In truth, Idhthrael had missed this. The feeling of having someone to be truthful to, of knowing that someone out there cared for her after all the ways the world turned against her.

"You could always come back," Elladan suggested hopefully while ruffling her hair. "I've missed you – we all have."

"You know I can't, not with him there. The memories are just as bad."

The twin smiled softly at her. "It's always difficult with you isn't it?"

"Not as difficult as it is with you and your horrible brother," she brightly said back.

Her brother in all but blood only glared at her as Elrond arrived with Elrohir. Judging by the frown on the elf lord's face, she braced herself, knowing she would receive one of his infamous lectures.

* * *

Hearing some very loud elvish curses from some other end of the ward, and being bored out of his mind with only a grumpy Iorveldir as his company, Legolas felt naturally curious. No matter how much he respected, and feared, the head healer, he could not resist.

Mustering his sweetest, most innocent look, he said to the elf sitting next to his bed, "Iorveldir, I'm rather tired, but I fear I can't sleep. Could you give me something for a dreamless sleep?"

The healer was glad to hear that Legolas wanted to sleep from his own volition, so he got up. "Don't leave, and don't do anything rash," he glared at the prince before going away to mix the brew requested.

Legolas smiled to himself, already halfway off the bed as soon as Iorveldir closed the white curtains again. The floor was cold to his bare feet, but he didn't quite care. Testing out the strength of his legs, he found that the therapy Elrond had put him through for the last three days was helping him gain his strength back. Gripping the bedside table to give him some temporary balance, he shifted the curtains separating his bed from the rest of the room.

Empty white beds filled it. That gave him some relief, because this particular room, smaller than the others, with wide windows on either end of it, was reserved for critically injured patients. Well, all the beds were empty except for the one in an opposite corner of the room.

He silently crept there, his motions hurried for fear that Iorveldir would take quicker than expected, even though he knew the sleeping draught he had asked for took some time to prepare. Through the slightly opened curtains which shielded most of the bed from view, he saw Lord Elrond wringing his hands in frustration.

Slowly Legolas approached the bed, alerting them of his presence by shifting the curtains open wider. " _Idhthrael?_ What are you doing here?" She was lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, an amused look on her rather pale face. Again, he was struck by how beautiful her smile was, but now was not the time to dwell on that. "Are you hurt?"

The twins were standing away from him, a guilty look on their faces as Elrond glared at him. "Legolas. What are _you_ doing here?"

"You told me she was sleeping," he replied flatly.

"She was, until just now," Elladan told the prince, jumping to his father's defence.

"And you didn't think to tell me anything?"

Elrond fixed him with a level stare. "It would have driven you insane with worry."

Legolas had to admit that was true. If he had known that something was wrong with her, he would have insisted to see her even if it meant damaging his health. But his blue eyes still flashed with irritation, meeting Elrond's stubborn gaze.

He saw Elrohir glance at his father who nodded slightly. The younger twin, though careful of his wounds, dragged a resisting Legolas out of Idhthrael's sight. Her laughter and her voice followed them, "don't frighten him _too_ much, _gwador nin_."

"Sit," Elrohir pointed at the bed horizontal to Idhthrael's, an instruction which the prince complied to, only because he was rather tired already. "She's fine, just very tired. Do you know what she did?"

"Valar, Elrohir, I didn't even know she was injured," he truthfully told the other elf. Trying to get a view of her, he leaned sideways, wincing as his barely healed back was stretched. It was good that he was dressed in a loose-fitting tunic.

"She wasn't injured," Elrohir said flatly, still towering menacingly over him, refusing to sit down. "She did not have any form of rest for over two weeks, maybe even since she got here. Would you care to tell me what happened, _mellon nin?_ " The last two words were growled out, for the younger twin was protective of the _elleth_ he considered a sister.

Legolas looked at him, wide eyed. "I swear, I didn't know. I was too out of it."

"If you _ever_ hurt her, Legolas," the twin dangerously hissed, "I do not care if you are a prince, if you are _Thranduillion_ , if you are my friend. I will find you and make sure you suffer twice her hurt. Understood?"

"What is this about?" Legolas asked suspiciously as he fought the urge to wince again. Iorveldir had returned bearing a cup of steaming liquid and was approaching them with an angry scowl.

"She called out your name many times in her dreams."

That was all Elrohir would tell him before Iorveldir ordered Legolas back into his bed, a command which he meekly followed as warring thoughts filled his mind.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	16. Third Chances

**yasminasfeir1** \- I'm glad you liked that part :) And about Daechir, that will be answered later...

 **Phox** \- he's an elf, and elves heal faster and better, so perhaps not very long, though long enough for Legolas to chafe against it. You'll see. And I hope your shoulder is better now :)

I've finished one syllabus already, so here's another chapter for you guys.

* * *

It was late the next evening, after Elrond and his sons had fed her dinner in bed and left Idhthrael several books to read, along with fresh flowers from the palace gardens, when Legolas came. He leaned on the windowsill for some moments, watching her lie back on a pile of pillows as she read until she put the book face down on her lap and looked at him, cocking her head sideways in the direction of the chairs left there.

She watched him as he took the seat closest to her, a normal chair with some cushioning, noticing that the burn scar was still there, and that the fingers of his right hand trembled slightly as he handed her the necklace she had given back to him.

"Not as pretty as those flowers there," Legolas said as Idhthrael wordlessly took it, "but I hope you like it."

The crystal felt cold to her fingers as she fiddled with it unconsciously. "Why did you stay?" she asked him quietly.

He looked out the window at the night sky, smiling to himself. "The Woodland elves have always loved best the light of stars, and I have found one for myself, so that I no longer have to be fearful of the night."

"I never took you for a poetic person," she commented dryly, although her eyes were bright with happiness for him, glad that he had found some measure of peace.

Laughing, the prince shook his head. "I tried my hand at poetry once, and suffice it to say that my father's advisors came to him pleading for him to never let me become a bard or some musician."

Idhthrael snorted, a rather unladylike sound which she cared naught about. "I am glad then, that I was not here when such a catastrophe happened."

"As if you could write good poetry," Legolas shot back, the humour in his voice taking out any sting.

She raised her eyebrow in a challenge, which made her remind him of Elrond's ability to unnerve somebody with just that movement. "You would be surprised."

He only shook his head, and for a moment they were quiet, Idhthrael looking down at the white blankets which covered most of her body, while Legolas played with a piece of loose string from his father's oversized tunic which he was wearing now. She was usually blunt, but the past hours with her brothers made her long for the same sort of easy companionship she missed without them, and she didn't know where to start talking, so she waited.

"When you said your family died," Legolas began, unable to stand the tension anymore, "you were wrong. Lord Elrond – he's your family."

It was her turn to smile to herself. "Yes, that is true."

"You shouldn't have let one elf take that away from you."

"Perhaps," she replied vaguely. "I have been reminded that there is love and comfort to be found anywhere, if you are willing to both give and receive."

Legolas resisted choking on his breath in surprise. "You are more cryptic than Mithrandir, my lady," he told her.

The statement seemed to please Idhthrael because she looked up at him, smiling. Her smile was lopsided, he realised, tilted to the left. "You are a puzzle yourself, Prince Legolas."

"Well, I – I actually came here to thank you," he admitted, fingers drumming nervously on his thigh. "I was told that you forewent rest while you healed me."

She looked surprised. "I didn't heal you, Radagast did. There's no need for thanks." Her eyes followed him as he stood up, clearly intent on leaving.

"I don't know why you did it, seeing as you basically hate my very existence," Legolas forced himself to tell her, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice, unable to meet her brown eyes. "But thank you, really."

"Where are you going?" Idhthrael asked him, truly concerned. For a moment, she had been willing to try allow him to be her friend, to try become his friend in return. Being with the twins reminded her that companionship was not so bad. There _was_ some good in the world. Perhaps, she thought, this was the cruel way the universe always acted. The moment she desired something, it fled from her grasp like water through her fingers.

Legolas' back was to her already, now, his fingers clutching the curtain to close it on his way out. "I thought you didn't want to see me anymore, now that we're safe."

"I would that you stayed," she said to him, her voice small as she clutched the book on her lap to keep her from fidgeting.

Legolas turned around slightly, making the candlelight from the chandelier high above him illuminate him in golden, _golden_ light while casting him into some shadows too. He looked ancient and battle weary. "Why? It won't end well. We'd probably end up fighting."

Her heart broke a bit, knowing it was her own fault. "We could try not to."

"Why now?" he asked. After all this time, why did she ask for his presence?

This time when she smiled it didn't reach her eyes. "You're in need of company, your leg is about to give up after a whole day of irresponsible use, and I guess I'm also in need of someone to talk to."

He let out a dry chuckle as she once again saw through him easily. Going back to the chair he recently vacated, Legolas sat down. He wanted so badly to know her better, but not for the same reasons she seemed to want his company for. _It won't end well_ , he said his own words back to himself, _because false hope is a fool's hope, especially in matters of the heart_. And yet, it was his heart which all but commanded him to stay. Raising his hands in defeat before letting them fall back to his lap, he looked at her. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"Everything and nothing, your highness," she replied, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Tell me more about your childhood escapades. Surely, they didn't let you get away with _such_ bad poetry."

"Oh, no," he began, slightly amused, "poetry was the least of havocs I caused."

"You can't have been more horrible than the twins," Idhthrael insisted even though the beginnings of a real smile tugged at her lips.

Legolas looked at her, deciding that those little things about her, like the way she was trying to hold back her amusement and the way her untied hair kept falling into her face, was going to break his heart sooner or later. He wanted more, wanted to see this other, carefree side of her which her family managed to open up, wanted to know what she dreamed of when she looked at the stars, what was in that loud mind of her which kept her awake in the early hours of the day. It would hurt, he knew, if it ended in rejection, but he threw logic away. He would enjoy this stolen moment of a desire fulfilled, and face whatever consequences later. After all, he had been through worse. So Legolas dug up his own memories, beginning to talk. "There was one time, when I was very, _very_ young, that I found a baby warg..."

* * *

Hours later, Thranduil strode into the healing wards to find Elrond. Legolas had mysteriously vanished, and the King hoped his son was only going through a check up with the healers, because there were far worse places for him to have gone to. Thranduil frowned when he saw the elf lord in question pressing his ears on the door which lead to the intensive care section of the rooms.

"What is hap – " he began, but Elrond nearly whacked him in the face with his palm.

"Hush. Do you hear that?" the Lord of Rivendell, who was in a very undignified position, asked cheekily to his friend.

The King listed for a moment. There was laughter muffled by the thick doors coming from the room, cursing from a voice he knew was well as his own, and angry but amused shouts from a girl.

"Leave them be, Thranduil," Elrond told him, smiling as he stood straight, brushing away the wrinkles of his robes. "They are happy. It is good for them."

"Quite true," he responded with a smile of his own. For Legolas to be laughing was a good thing, and though he would never go so far as to suggest anything to his son, having a new Princess in the realm would not be such a bad thing after all. "I think it is time for us to settle our differences too."

Elrond stared at Thranduil, knowing full well the memories of Dagorlad which still haunted them both. "Very well, I consent, in exchange for a bottle of Dorwinion wine."

"Ah," the King smirked, "I think that is _exactly_ what we both need."

"Just like old times?" Elrond asked him as they walked out of the healing wards together, enjoying the emptiness of the corridors.

"Just like old times," agreed Thranduil.

After all, despite their differences, they had both missed the times of friendship they once shared, and perhaps, third chances _were_ given by the Valar, once every millennium.

* * *

When the night began to turn into morning, Legolas rose from his curled-up position on his chair. There was a giddiness in him, a strange feeling of happiness and peace he had not been able to find in a long time.

"Where are you going?" asked Idhthrael pushing herself to sit higher, the residues of laughter from his last story still in her voice. It was good having a friend – _friend_ , she told the strange warmth in her firmly. Lord Elrond had warned her enough times.

Legolas looked down at the floor ruefully. "I'd better get going, my father's probably worried about me."

She watched him straighten out the folds of the oversized tunic he wore, noticing the tremors in his fingers, but not saying anything, knowing that right now he wanted to forget. His movements were shy, as if he didn't know what to do. _He doesn't want to go_ , she realised, _and I don't want him to go either_. Out loud, she told him, "I think I'll be allowed out tomorrow, so don't try finding me here."

There was a dry chuckle from him as he looked up a bit. "Going back to your cave?"

"We're in _your_ cave now, my high and mighty prince," she reminded him as she tucked back a stray strand of her hair. "Go, Legolas, I'll be fine as long as you'll be fine." It really was adorable how awkward he actually was beneath all those layers of dignity and charm. "If you want Lord Elrond to free you tomorrow, you need your rest."

"Yes, _naneth_ ," Legolas grumbled while he grinned at her, shifting the white curtains open so he could leave.

"Legolas," Idhthrael's voice stopped him again, "thank you." And she meant it. These past hours of idle chatter, of companionship, she had needed it, and a wonderful, warm feeling of irrational happiness was blossoming in her chest.

When he turned his golden head around, this time he looked young and youthful and _handsome_ , she thought, startling herself.

"No, my lady," the prince said, knowing it would irk her, "thank _you._ "

She laid awake for some time replaying their conversation. His embellished tales of childhood pranks, his secret skill in music, forgotten aspirations as an elfling, gossip about those dreadful ladies of the court. It turned out he could do impressive imitations of how they fawned over him, and she found that talking with him, being with him, was not horrible at all. In fact, it was wonderful. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered how happy he was. A satisfied smile played on her lips as she let her weariness pull her away from this world, and she had her first good, natural sleep filled with pleasant dreams for the first time in a very long time, just as Legolas too slipped away into the realm of Elven dreams, thinking of her tinkling laughter and her tales of starlight.

* * *

"There, on the horizon," Thranduil pointed out as the early morning sun rose over the vastness of the forest, bathing it in ethereal light. They were sitting on the balcony of his study, a bottle of wine on the table between them, their third bottle.

Elrond tried to see what his friend meant and did see it after some struggle caused by the light-headedness he had. "The Old Fortress?"

"Do you feel it? The Darkness, the Shadow?" Swirling the wine in his glass, Thranduil pierced Elrond's eyes. While they might be slightly affected by the alcohol, they were by no means drunk. The King needed to know what had been in his heart for some time now, and he knew that Elrond could be trusted, especially now that the tatters of their lost friendship was being sewn back together.

"Yes, there is an evil there which grows. Even Imladris and Lorien has not been immune to the growing peril of the world," the elf lord stated, remembering his visions of flames and death as he poured himself another glass of the intoxicating red wine.

Both were silent for a moment, looking at the green canopy spread out before them, contemplating what fates might come to pass as elves oft do, for they were the sentinels of the world, but even now their power was failing. "Five hundred years since my Queen passed into the Halls of Mandos in our desire for peace," Thranduil heavily let out, "and now that hard won peace is gone."

"Do not lose hope, _mellon nin_ , for days of peace may yet come again." Meeting the King's eyes, Elrond felt something akin to fear run down his spine, for before him was proof of why they said the Woodelves were less wise and more dangerous. Exhaustion, grief, passion, fearlessness, anger and loyalty flashed through Thranduil's grey eyes even as the future flashed through Elrond's.

"And what price must we pay for such times?"

Dread filled Elrond's heart at the words. He knew the answer, or at least, a possible answer. "The heaviest one of all."

"What have you seen?" The question was desperate, insistent, demanding an answer.

Shaking his head, the elf lord muttered, "it would be best if you didn't know."

" _What have you seen?_ " This time, anger and annoyance tinged the voice.

"I don't know how far in the future it was," sighed Elrond heavily, rubbing his forehead in exhaustion. "Legolas riding against a sea of orcs, larger than any we've ever seen, the Black Gates of Mordor opening, an ancient evil and _fire_ \- so much fire."

"The heaviest price," Thranduil repeated, pressing his face into his hands, refusing to let even Elrond to see the anguish, the weakness, in him. There was a reason why he had to be cold to the outside world - not because he felt too little, but rather because he felt too _much_ , and such a thing was dangerous for a King, he reminded himself. When he looked up again, his grey eyes were steeled. "The future is not yet written in stone."

"Perhaps, for even the very wise cannot see all ends, and the Shadow has ever been blind to its most formidable enemy."

"And what is that?" the King asked, a sharpness in his voice. Gone was the despairing father, now sat the ancient ruler whom mortals and immortals both feared.

Yet his friend could still see beneath the mask. So as he sipped the heady Dorwinion wine, as the golden sun rose again without fail, Elrond smiled. "Small acts of kindness and love, or so Mithrandir says."

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please!**


	17. Chances Taken

**yasminasfeir1** \- as always, thanks for reviewing :D I hope you like this chapter

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- it's either in the appendices of the Return of the King or the Silmarillion that it was said Oropher led the army of the Woodelves during the Battle of the Last Alliance (which took place at the plains of Dagorlad) and it was Thranduil who led the army back with only a third of the army. Thanks for reviewing :)

Here's the story.

* * *

It was a difficult thing, walking around the palace grounds with a red mark covering most of his left cheek. While the burn did not hurt anymore, people could not help but stare at it. He was fairly certain that the sling holding his right hand was not what made them pause in their actions as he passed – he had broken that arm far too many times for it to be such an attraction. As prince, Legolas was used to having people look at him, and yet now the question in their eyes, the _pity_ made his stomach churn. However, he was _Thranduillion_ , so he kept his head high, walking past the silent, wide-eyed elves, whom he had known for centuries, who stared at him as if he was a stranger.

Heading outside, he walked briskly to Idhthrael's place, passing by the gardens to ask the trees for some flowers, smiling at the memory of their conversation two nights ago. He meant to visit sooner, but Elladan and Elrohir were with her. Legolas did not want to steal that happiness from her, and he wasn't sure whether he was completely welcome or not. She had told him to go away, yet she had wanted him to stay. Today, perhaps, he would know.

Only several people treated him like a normal elf. Idhthrael was one of them, she did not mention the face or the arm except to ask if they were better. In fact, she was teasing him about his past, joking with him about boring councillors. He needed her company so badly now. Even Erthor, who, thank the Valar, was healed already, looked at him with that cautious, overprotective look which Legolas found too confining. Of course, he never blamed any of those closest to him for their understandable worry, but sometimes it became too much.

So lost in his thoughts was Legolas that he did not notice another elf's presence until he nearly fell as he bumped into him.

"I'm sorry."

Legolas frowned. The elf was not someone he recognised. Sharp bones defined the male face, whose black hair was tied back in distinctive warrior braids, and similarly dark eyes met the prince's blue ones. "No, it's my fault, I wasn't paying attention. _I'm_ sorry," he graciously told the strange elf. "I don't think we've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

Something glinted in the other elf's eyes. "I am Daechir of Rivendell, and you are?"

"Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

Daechir laughed, but it did not reach those cold eyes of his, bowing slightly as he said, "surely you have titles more impressive than that, my prince."

"Indeed I am _Thranduillion_ , and yet I enjoy the simplicity of life," the prince replied with his own amusement, appearing carefree while his mind worked hard. Always, his instinct was what saved him, and now something blared in him which told him not to trust this elf. "So," he nonchalantly asked, "what brings you to this part of the palace?"

A wry smile appeared on the other elf's face, nodding at the flowers in Legolas' left hand. "Same as you. A woman."

"Few women live in this area." And indeed, few people went past it, evidenced by the fact that no one else had passed them as they stood conversing at this winding path leading to the abandoned part of the outdoor palace. "Are you lost?"

"Yes, actually, I was heading back to find someone. Do you know where I might find Idhthrael Adramiriel?"

Of all elves, she was the last person Legolas would have thought Daechir was seeking, though it did make some very small sense. "Actually," he raised the flowers he held, "I'm on my way to visit the Lady Idhthrael myself. Would you like to accompany me?"

In his mind, Daechir twistedly smiled, though he showed little evidence of it outwardly. Did Idhthrael really find herself an admirer in the prince? Did she really manage to acquire the title of _Lady_ here? If so his plan was going to work even better.

With what he hoped was a delighted expression, he nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Prince Legolas."

* * *

When Idhthrael opened the trapdoor, she felt her heart plummet in utter shock, and then race in fear. She would be damned, though, if she let it show to _him_. The word was as vile as his name was in her mind. Venomously, she hissed, "just _what_ do you think you're doing here?"

"Can't I say hello to my old love?" Daechir asked, his dark eyes as hollow as she remembered them to be, his smile as empty as always. _Valar_ , how could she be so stupid to fall for him?

Legolas was looking at them both, eyebrows raised in as much shock as she felt within her. "Wait, _what?_ " If they were alone, she would have teased him for such inelegance, but no, they were not. "Old love?" He frowned, looking from Daechir's oddly gleeful face to Idhthrael's one which was a calm façade.

"Yes." It was Daechir who spoke first, the clenched muscles of Idhthrael's jaws halting her speech as she reined in her anger. "I was surprised when you didn't recognise my name, especially if you're already giving her flowers," sneered the Rivendell elf. "Did Idhthrael _dearest_ not tell you about me?"

"Don't you dare," she gritted out, still standing on the steps of her door, refusing them – refusing _him_ entry – but her heart was also skipping at the sight of Legolas.

An expression of faux compassion was painted on Daechir's complexion. "It was your _father_ who let you come. I told them I needed to apologise. They believed me."

" _I_ don't." Her eyes were storm clouds ready to break.

Immediately, Legolas moved between the two of them, facing her. In a voice so low that Daechir wouldn't hear, he whispered, "do you want me to get rid of him?"

"I can fight my own battles," she spat at out, eyes locked into her ex fiancé's. "And you can drown in the fires of _Oroduin_ for all I care. I will not harm you, I am better than that. You know what I am capable of. You did not come here to apologise, that much I know, but you will not come here again, lest I forget myself."

Casting a softer gaze at Legolas, she looked at the flowers he held in his hand, which he now silently offered to her, making her confused heart trip. There were red roses, _so cliché_ , she thought needing to forget the other elf's presence, white lilies, _very pretty_ , and golden and silver flowers she did not know where he had gotten, for she had never seen them here. _Thank you_ , Idhthrael mouthed at Legolas, not caring that Daechir was watching the exchange with a madness akin to obsession, that Daechir was unable to reply for his mind was paralysed by jealousy and hate.

Slamming the trapdoor shut, Idhthrael also shut her heart from the thought of the past. She slid the bolt to the door, locking it, so no one could enter. In her other hand, she held the flowers from Legolas, breathing in their scent as she lowered herself on the stairs.

Closing her eyes, she felt like drowning in the blissful fragrance of his flowers, hoping against hope that in time she would forget, that Daechir had not descended too deeply into his madness, for while she had not cared about the unsettling glint in his eyes, she had seen it, and it lingered in the back of her mind. Already, it was beginning to gnaw into the forefront of her thoughts. Madness was a dangerous thing. That made Daechir a dangerous elf.

It had been his own fault that he had been so power hungry, so focused on himself that he turned into some abomination, planning to poison Elrond's family in desire for power. He had been dealt with mercifully, but, sometimes, Idhthrael thought, mercy was a double-bladed sword.

* * *

After a while, she realised that the muffled noises from outside the trapdoor were voices. _They are still there_ , Idhthrael thought. She knew she shouldn't eavesdrop, but this was highly personal.

" – will stay away from her," she heard Legolas say.

Daechir's far more serpentine voice replied, "what right do you have to dictate her life?"

"I am her prince, I am _the_ prince, as you pointed out. It is my duty to protect my people."

"I have done nothing against the law of this land, and she did not seek out your help. Are you just trying to play the knight in shining armour for a helpless lady?"

In her mind's eye, she could see how Legolas would have clenched his fists in search of some drop of restraint from throttling the other elf right then and there, and she actually smiled to herself as she inched silently closer to the trapdoor to hear more.

"She is far from helpless. Her sword is her own, she needs none other to wield it for her, and she is no coward like you."

"Tell me, my _prince_ , if you care so much about her, does she care about _you?_ "

Idhthrael could not stop her sharp intake of breath at where this might lead. Her hands played with the flowers, and in the semi-darkness, she held her breath in fear and turmoil. She wanted to go out there, to stop the suffering Daechir could inflict on the prince by mere words, but she also needed to know how this would all turn out.

On the other side of the trapdoor, Legolas was indeed trying hard not to punch the elf in front of him. Daechir was getting beneath his skin, he knew that, and yet his own mind was not in its right state now, it was still struggling to gain a measure of peace after the horrors he faced.

With a visage of outward calm, not betraying what he felt, Legolas replied, "if she does not count me as her friend, then I do not hold it against her. You would know of what I feel, if you had a heart."

"Oh, the poor, heartbroken prince," sneered Daechir as he stepped closer to the prince. "Idhthrael used to tell me how much she hated you, how much she despised the murderer of her parents."

"And she told me about how vile you are." Meanwhile, though, Legolas' thoughts reached out to the trees surrounding the clearing, asking them for guards to come as he tried very hard not to let the poison in the words thrown at him to take any hold.

"So she did talk about me." There was satisfaction in Daechir's eyes, a glint of something unnatural shining.

"Yes, and I am warning you again, as Prince of the Greenwood, to stay away from her," Legolas replied, taking his own step forward, walking away from the trapdoor the other elf was eying with hunger.

Unintentionally, Daechir took a step back, something which he cursed himself for, but there was something kindled in the prince which made him recoil slightly. "I thought she didn't need her own battles fought for her."

"I protect my people, even if they believe they do not need it."

"You _protect_ them?" The question was hurled incredulously at the prince. "How many died for you? What about that other elf who screamed and screamed as he was burned? I heard what happened, what gave you that pretty little scar, and how _weak_ you were." There was satisfaction seeping through Daechir when he saw how Legolas was thrown off balance, how those icy blue eyes were flooded with horror, guilt, doubt.

Standing rooted to the spot for a moment, Legolas couldn't think. The memories which assaulted him and the overwhelming guilt, the paralysing self-doubt, which he knew Daechir could see clearly, robbed him of awareness. He could not stop it for the span of several seconds, and the pain of guilt was stronger than the beating of the orcs. _The heart, Legolas_ , Idhthrael's words suddenly echoed in his head, _that is what people love you for_. It grounded him back to reality for some reason, and when he met those hollow black eyes of Daechir's he summoned what strength was given down to him from his father. He refused to be defeated.

"We all make sacrifices for the ones we love," Legolas began slowly, weighing his words. "Orphenion loved the forest so much that he would not betray it, just as I care for Idhthrael so much that I would sacrifice my happiness for hers. I would let her leave, let her marry you, even if it meant I would be alone for eternity, as long as she would be happy. But she would not be. You broke her, and you will _not_ go near her again."

The last part was spoken with such a finality, such an authority, so similar to that of Thranduil's that Daechir stood dumbfounded in the seconds that three guards rushed into the clearing, led by a frantic Erthor. The trees had done their part.

"Escort this elf away, please, and make sure he stays _away_ ," ordered the prince, and the guards moved to do as asked. His blue eyes were cold as he observed his guards doing their work.

Daechir put up no resistance, only saying, "we will see how high and mighty you are, _Prince_ Legolas, by the end of it," before he followed the guards out of the clearing, leaving a seething Legolas with a worried Erthor who chided him for going alone.

Legolas was about to reply with sarcasm when the trapdoor opened, Idhthrael standing on the steps, an unreadable, sheepish look on her face. He sighed inwardly, for he was not quite recovered yet from Daechir to talk with her.

"Erthor, do you mind?" Legolas muttered, knowing that his second in command minded quite a lot.

"Legolas, I need an explanation, or I'm taking it up with your father. He openly threatened you."

She ignored Erthor, her attention focused solely at the prince. "Did you mean what you said?"

"What?" Legolas frowned at her, sending an apologetic look towards his second in command.

Her face remained stony. "I heard your conversation with Daechir. Did you mean it?"

"Oh," he lamely said. He had not meant for her to know the depths of his feelings, had not meant for _anyone_ to know because he understood that her heart would break as only the elves' could if pushed too far, and she would fade, whether she wanted it or not. Grief was a dangerous, volatile thing for elves to have. Silently, he pleaded Erthor to go away some distance, which his friend did after sending him one last glare, though he only went several steps away.

"Did you?" her voice broke through his thoughts.

"I meant every word," he admitted, mustering the courage to look into her brown eyes which were darker than usual, despite the bright sunlight hitting them.

"Why?" Idhthrael asked. _What did I do to deserve your love? Why do you even care for one who shuns you?_ she inwardly wondered.

Legolas glanced warily at where Erthor stood with arms crossed, just at the edge of the trees. Softly he told her, "you help me see the good in this world, and you make me brave enough to face myself because you are brave enough to be yourself. You are courageous and good and brilliant, despite what you would have the world think." _And_ , he added to himself, _you are so very beautiful in your mind, your heart._ But he would not tell her that, not now when she had enough to think of, when she might not share his feelings.

Looking away from him, she thought back to the flowers she left upon the steps, the words she heard him say which were not supposed to be privy to her. "And if I don't feel the same way?"

"Then you have the right to happiness, and I would not force you." It would tear at his heart to have to watch her from afar, yet he would give her what her heart wished, whatever it was.

Idhthrael smiled a small smile. "I told you to prove yourself, Legolas, and you have."

"What?" He hardly dared to breathe as she looked at him with something blazing in her eyes, her face so ethereal that he was taken away for a moment, unable to fathom where this was going.

Steeling herself, for her last memory of doing this was not pleasant, she murmured quietly as she nervously tucked a strand of her unbraided hair behind her ear, "I owe you a kiss."

His reaction was instant. Legolas backed away. He would not ask her to, would not take what was not his to have. "No, Idhthrael," vehemently he said, "I refuse to force you into this, not after – "

She pulled him gently to her, sealing her lips over his own. It was a chaste kiss, lasting only a few seconds before she drew back, but it was long enough for her to taste the lingering trace of sweetness on his lips, long enough to send both of them out of their wits.

He stood there, gaping at her, surprised. "Idhthrael," Legolas breathed out.

"No one is forcing me to do anything."

They stood there for a moment, inches apart, looking at each other, trying to read the other's thoughts, captured in the moment. Her eyes slid shut for a moment, rejoicing in his comforting presence, his scent of fresh forest rain, of mossy grounds and autumn leaves overwhelming her. Legolas reached out his good arm, tracing her high cheekbones, bringing his hand to rest beneath her chin, where she let it stay.

Her own hand reached up to squeeze that hand of his, smiling as if she possessed a secret. "You deserve happiness too, Legolas," she breathed out, opening her eyes.

And the moment was broken.

Before he could do anything else except take in the way her astonishingly soft lips lifted upwards in that smile, she turned around, disappearing inside her underground home. He did not know how to feel, _what_ to feel. Those few seconds were _divine_. His heart beat wildly in his chest, threatening to explode. And yet, what was she playing at? Did she return his affections? Did he have a chance? What about Daechir?

A rather harsh pat on his shoulders jerked him back to reality. Erthor playfully smirked at the prince. "Nice catch."

 _But she is not a catch,_ Legolas thought, _she is a mystery. An absolutely lovely one._ And for some reason, the sun seemed to shine brighter than it did moments ago. Life seemed to be bearable again, now that there was hope, for the ghost of her lips still lingered upon his.

* * *

For the second time that day, Idhthrael felt herself sliding down onto the stairs. _What was I thinking?_ she berated her own actions. The taste of sweet strawberry pastries from his lips was still there on the tip of her tongue, making her giddy. _What do I even feel for him?_ Certainly, she felt a friendship between them, especially since that night in the hospital wards. _Does he truly love me? From everyone he could have chosen from, why me?_ The questions bothered her. She wanted to believe that she still had another chance, a chance at healing a heart which had known too much grief, and yet, how could it heal if she didn't know even know what it felt?

In the two days he had been away, she had missed his presence, having been accustomed to it during those days in that old wizard's cottage. But more than that, she wondered what strange feeling made her heart trip at the mere sight of him. Now that she knew him better, knew what made him laugh, what made him slip off that mask of a perfect prince and become a chatty, excitable, adventurous young elf, it made her want to know him even more. And even now, she felt her grip on her own heart fail, for that other elf who was unburdened by the troubles of the world or by the confines of duty was more charming, more alluring. Everything in him, the grief, the kindness, the anger, the courage, they made her own burdens more bearable. That true side of Legolas, free from the judgement of the world, which understood her darkness and still wanted to be with her, the side which simply dared her to dream, dared her to laugh, to hope, and to find what she had once been before the world changed her – she loved him.

That was her conclusion. _I love him_ , she tested out the words in her head, _and he loves me_. Once again she had left Elrond's warnings unheeded, and she could only hope that, this time, she had chosen the right elf. It was a daring, irrational thing to kiss him, and yet she found that she did not regret doing it. Sometimes you had to take risks, because third chances were so rarely given. She would not let the thought of Daechir take this away from her.

Smiling to herself, Idhthrael took the bundle of flowers on the steps, thinking that they were the most beautiful blossoms she had ever seen.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	18. Haunting

**Woman of Letters** \- about Daechir, that's explained a bit in this chapter. Thanks for the review, I'm glad you're liking it :)

 **frostyhorse** \- let's just say Daechir gets what he deserves... :)

 **yasminasfeir1** \- it was a difficult chapter to write, so I'm really happy that you're happy :)

 **BlackWolf888** \- no, no, that isn't strange. I'm quite attached to Erthor too :)

Anyways, I wanted to post this yesterday but I got too wrapped up with all my studies and family stuff so I forgot. Sorry about that. I'll keep posting every two/three days, but when my university classes actually start in February, it might only be twice a week.

Well, enough of that. Here's the story.

* * *

" _Adar?_ " Legolas tentatively peeked through the gap between the doors leading to his father's private quarters. Galion told him that he was invited to dine in the King's chambers for dinner, but the Prince knew it was no invitation, rather a request to be obeyed. He heard his father's stern voice telling him to come in and he smoothed out the silvery tunic he wore, making sure he was presentable enough. Most of all, he tried not to allow any of the morning's confrontation with Daechir and Idhthrael bother him. It had been a long time since father and son had dined privately together. Legolas knew he would need his emotions in check, even if his heart could not be stopped from soaring at the thought of her.

Walking into the antechamber, taking the door to his right, he remembered when he would hurtle through these rooms as an excited elfling. He found Thranduil sitting alone at the fully served private dining table. There were only four chairs around the small square thing, and he took the seat opposite his father, smiling as he did so. He seemed unable to stop himself from doing that, today.

"Legolas," Thranduil smiled back, beginning to take some serving of the meat and fruit. "I wanted to talk to you about a private matter."

Taking his own portion of the food, Legolas glanced nervously at his father, gulping down some wine. "What is it about, _Ada?_ "

"The Lady Idhthrael." Thranduil's lips curled upwards at the way Legolas' eyes darted around the room in panic. He may have been distant since _her_ death, but he remembered his own youth, and he made sure to ask Erthor for regular reports on Legolas, so he would know what his son was up to when he was drowned in council meetings and paperwork. Erthor's latest report confirmed what he had already suspected. "Tell me of your connection with her."

" _Hir nin_ – " Legolas began, trying to hide what he felt.

"No, _ion nin_. I am asking as your father."

Legolas took another gulp of wine, needing it if he was going to have to talk about her. "We are friends, _Ada_."

Did his son really think he knew so little? Thranduil scoffed to himself. Perhaps Elrond was right. There were many things he had forgotten, had slowly lost, since his love's death. "From what I hear, what happened earlier today tells me that you are a bit more than that." He chuckled when Legolas blinked in shock. "Come, now, _ion nin_ , I may not have been forthcoming in the past years, and I have treated you ill." Pausing for a moment to keep his thoughts in check, Thranduil struggled with emotions he usually cast aside. "Understand that this is not easy for me." From across the table Legolas nodded, listening as his father went on. "An old friend made me see clearer, and recent times have shown me the mortality even we, the Firstborn, face now. But I have always kept watch of you. There are many things I would tell you, many things I would fix, because even we can run out of time." It was a difficult thing to admit that he failed both his wife and child when he withdrew into himself in grief, but he was determined to make things right.

" _Ada_ ," Legolas said, noticing how the sharpness in those grey eyes had nearly disappeared. This was his father trying to show Legolas that he cared, even though it was hard for him. Did his time in captivity really shake his father so much? "I would not wish for a different father, you know that." The empty seat on Legolas' right was a distance neither had ever managed to close, yet, here they were.

Those words sent a warmth through Thranduil, thawing away the ice he kept his heart in to prevent it from shattering. He took a spoonful of his meal, bidding his son to do the same. Legolas had become too thin for his liking. He watched Legolas struggle with only one hand, knowing that aid would not be accepted, stubborn as his child was. "And I would not wish for any other son," he replied after a while.

Legolas' hand which was striving to scoop up some of the honeyed berries from his plate froze. Looking up, he saw his father's soft smile, and he smiled back. He had missed this, had envied the ease which the twins shared with Elrond, even if he loved his father dearly.

They stayed quiet for a while as each struggled with their long forgotten memories of how things once were, of the family broken by a single death, and their sparking hopes of what could be. It was Legolas who spoke first, breaking the hanging silence as he ruefully admitted, "Idhthrael… she's more than a friend to me, though I don't know what I am to her."

"Do you love her?" Thranduil asked, swirling the wine in his own cup. This, talking of feelings, it invoked memories both wonderful and painful. Taking a gulp of wine as Legolas did earlier, he allowed it to dull his pain, focusing on the joy as he looked upon what his wife created and died to protect. "Would you die for her?"

"Yes," Legolas answered steadily. "She's beautiful, _Ada_ , in more ways than one."

"And she has a fiery temper, like your mother had."

"Do you think she's right for me?" Legolas questioned. He needed to know if he was doing what was correct. He knew that his father would not ask him to marry for advantage, and he had been with enough maidens of the court to make him pray for deliverance whenever they began to talk with him. They were pretty, yes, but they were so transparent in their desire for a crown. None of those ladies had ever made him feel this _fire_ in him.

Thranduil studied his son for a moment, pride and affection filling him. Legolas deserved the happiness he had once tasted. "Would you kill for her?"

A second's hesitation born of confusion before, "yes."

"Some people think there are two kinds of love. One you would die for – a passionate, burning love. One you would kill for – an obsession, born from the madness of love." Thranduil sighed, putting down his fork on his empty plate as his son took in his words with rapt attention. "But dying and killing are easy. There is another love, the most precious one."

"What is it?"

And Legolas saw flitting in his father's eyes the ghosts of the past, of a future lost, memories which made him both cry and smile.

Thranduil looked into Legolas' blue eyes, so much like his mother's. He remembered her last words, begging him to keep their child safe, begging him not to make their child an orphan, not to let her death destroy him. He breathed out the words, his heart beginning to find some measure of peace. "The one you would live for."

* * *

Idhthrael was on her way to the palace to find her brothers, whom she had promised to take to a hunt, when she felt something following her through the woods. Normally, she would have ignored it, knowing that such tricks were not below the mischievous twins, especially so early in the morning, but this presence was more malicious. Her left hand slowly reached for the knife hidden within her boot.

That was when she heard it, the whizzing noise of an arrow from behind her. Within a split second, she knew it was meant to incapacitate, not kill. Ducking to her right, the projectile grazed her left arm, missing its intended target.

Hissing in pain, she tightly gripped her knife, spinning on her heels and letting it go, her motions blurred in speed, despite the rapid blood loss. A grunt came from the branches, and a black figure fell rather ungracefully.

"Idhthrael," Daechir was grinning maliciously at her, the dark hilt of her knife protruding on his upper thigh. He got up as she began to back away, terrified by the madness in his eyes.

"Daechir, you are not in your right mind," she slowly said, trying to get him to see sense while her brain still worked. Clutching her bleeding arm, trying to stop the flow, her senses blared. Something was wrong, they were not alone, and that scent…

"Do you know what it feels like to be powerless, Idhthrael?" Daechir asked her, taking joy in the way her eyes darted around, trying to calculate an exit. His thigh hurt, but right now, he was too satisfied to care. "You took away what hope I had for power, you and those accursed half-elves."

Blood was running down her hand too fast, she realised as she saw the crazed look in his eyes. _Revenge, of course_ , she scoffed at his motives, for he had once been one of Lord Elrond's most valued advisors. "Daechir, you don't have to do this," Idhthrael gritted out as her head began to swim. There was another knife in boot which her shaking left hand lifted in defense. She could take him on, if she had to, but she would rather not. "Don't do this to yourself."

"To myself?" he nearly shrieked at her, advancing towards her. "I am nothing because of you! You took that away when you cried to daddy dearest about me! I was _powerful_ once, and now I hold power over _you_."

"I gave you a second chance when I asked Lord Elrond to not kill you, to let you free," Idhthrael tried to calmly say as her senses screamed danger. The tree tops seemed empty though, so she would try to talk her way out. She didn't want to be a Kinslayer, and despite what he had done to her, the memories prevented her from killing him. If he wouldn't listen, then she would have to knock him out.

Daechir's lip twisted cruelly. She had saved him from exile, but her mercy was not what he had wanted. Not when he was stripped of everything he once had. "You made me live a life grovelling at Elrond's feet for power! You left me with _nothing!_ "

Her eyes widened as she stumbled back, hitting a tree, mind too clouded to think for a second. The knife slipped out of her trembling hand. _Poison_ , her sluggish thoughts figured out, _orc poison_. _He's working with orcs_. That was why her blood was coming out too fast, and that was what made her senses uneasy. "You are a power hungry snake, Daechir, and I saw through you." It shocked her that an elf could descend into such insanity. "You deserved nothing." Pushing herself away from the tree, her hand lashed out at him, but the poison had taken effect.

As the corners of her vision turned black and the poison stole the last of her strength, he came up to her, gripping her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "For all your smartness, you saw it too late."

Signalling to the ten orcs he brought, they came out from the shadows of the trees. He looked at the tall leader. "I kept my end of the bargain. I showed you where the palace is, now help me take what I want."

The leader laughed, a harsh sound. "She is the one the elf prince wants?"

Daechir nodded, satisfied that his plan was coming into place. "Bind her, and take her with us." In the end the mighty Lord Elrond would beg him for her release, and the half elf would feel what it felt to have his power taken away. And he might also just see that arrogant princeling on his knees too. Oh, how grand it would –

The world suddenly had black edges to it and he looked down, eyes widening.

His hands gripped his chest desperately as the orc pulled its blade out of it, sneering at him. "Your revenge is _nothing_ compared to my Master's plan," it spat as Daechir fell to the ground, a puppet whose strings had been cut. Looking at the orc who had finished binding the she-elf, it commanded, "take her, and leave a message to the elves. We'll bring her to the fortress and present her to the Master."

They knew where the horrible elves lived now, and they had the elf prince's love. Perhaps the Master's anger about the army's defeat would be appeased, finally. For all their talk about wisdom, the elves could be stupid too, smirked the orc as he and his small group fled from the palace grounds, for the morning sun had begun to peak from the clouds.

Taking one last glance back at the lifeless body of that ridiculous elf and the silvery blood which stained the ground in a large pool, the orc leader smiled, approving of the message written on one of the trees with the red ink.

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	19. In Blood

**BlackWolf888** \- well, if you think that last cliffhanger was nasty, I'm sorry about this one :)

 **yasminasfeir1** \- you'll get the reaction, and I think you'll want to murder me if I don't update again real soon

 **frostyhorse** \- well, I did want to hurt Daechir a bit more, but there's lots of hurting scenes coming up and they are hard to write

 **ElvenNightshade** \- hello! I'm glad you're liking the story :)

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- they are finally together... but for how long? *wicked grin*

By the way, thank you, really, for reviewing. Your reviews really make my day and I write faster cause of them :D

And, here's the story.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir were confused. Idhthrael was rarely ever late - now, she was hours late. As they walked around the palace trying to find her, their worry grew. They knew that she did not stay within the stronghold, for she had taken them to the abandoned smithy which she made into her home, but they did not know how to navigate the winding pathways of the woods, no matter how many times they visited.

"Do you think Legolas might know where she is?" Elladan asked his twin as they came back inside the halls after searching one of the gardens.

Elrohir glared at him. " _Know?_ That elf probably has someone tailing her to know her every movement, seeing how much he _cares_ for her." But Legolas was supposed to be in a council meeting, and hardly anyone knew her personally, much less where she had gone. Unsurprisingly, Idhthrael had made very few friends here even if she had somehow become admired by many. They would be having a talk about social skills with her when they found her.

For a while the stalked the halls silently, searching the kitchens, the library, the healing wards and asking the passing elves if any of them knew where she lived. An elf named Talathion told them to check whether she was with the King, which they could not do since the King was in the same council meeting as his son.

Finally, Elrohir sighed as they returned to their rooms. "Do you think she's in trouble?"

His twin only sent him a look that said he didn't even have to ask. Idhthrael would often disappear for hours in her wanderings of the mind, but not like this. She knew they were expecting her and she herself was excited for a trip outside the palace.

Besides, the sinking feeling of dread in their stomachs told them enough.

* * *

When she woke up, Idhthrael expected to see Daechir's obnoxious smirk. He was nowhere to be seen, though admittedly her field of vision was small as her body hung over an orc's foul shoulder, carried like a sack. Judging by the sunlight hitting her, it was nearly mid-day, she pondered to herself, her eyes closing again so they would not realise she was awake.

The tales of what orcs did to their captives, the burns on Legolas' cheek and the clear memory of her mother's screams sent tendrils of fear clawing at her heart. She vowed to herself, though, that whatever they did, they would get nothing from her. Daechir may have led them into the palace, but she would be damned before she gave them any more help. A small voice in the back of her head whispered that she might just be a pawn, a bait for the elves to come after. If the orcs knew Daechir, they could know who she actually was.

She feared what Legolas would do when he found out she was gone, did not want him to put himself in harm's way for her. He was the _Prince_. His life meant more than hers, even though she knew he hated that idea. Now was not the time for these feelings, and yet she could not stop the pang of regret hitting her as her body jolted in the careless grip of the orcs. There was a real chance that she would not survive this. Idhthrael found that what she regretted most was giving more pain to Legolas, to her family.

The orc carrying her stumbled over something she did not see. Her chest rattled, triggering a nauseous feeling in her stomach. The poison had not left her system yet, she realised, even though her arm had stopped bleeding. Trying to keep the contents of her stomach within her, knowing that she was lucky not to be noticed yet by the orcs, she prayed that when the night came, her strength could withstand whatever the evil creatures held in store for her.

* * *

Legolas walked out of the council room feeling extremely relieved. It had been an utterly boring, horrible morning filled with useless debates with councilors who were only interested in their own power. They did not know what was out there, preferring to argue over tax matters and legal disputes. He knew those were important to run the kingdom, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Orc sightings were becoming more frequent, and the spiders were bolder.

The new skin covering the scar on his face itched. That was also a nuisance throughout the morning, and his right arm, now free from the sling, still refused to steadily hold a cup. Sighing, Legolas remembered the conversation he had with his father two nights ago. He had not met Idhthrael since the debacle with Daechir and the… kiss. His feelings were jumbled up at the moment, adding to his frustration.

Stalking past the elves in the halls, he let out a breath of relief as he reached the empty gardens. The fresh air was pleasant, calming. Lunch would be served soon, Legolas knew, not feeling particularly hungry, but he could always go to the kitchens later. He needed this before the afternoon's therapy with Elrond because those sessions where they tried to strengthen his arm always ended up in bursts of anger from him. How could he be of any use to anyone if he couldn't even draw a bow for more than five seconds?

Sitting beneath an oak tree, Legolas allowed its soothing presence to draw the tension out of him. Maybe he would visit Idhthrael when she came back from her hunt with the twins. They needed to talk, after all, sooner or later.

The memory of how pleasant her lips were on his own sent his heart beating rapidly. She really was something different. His father's words came to the forefront of his thoughts. _The one you would live for_. It had been a warning that death could take even immortal beings, just as it had taken his mother, and it was the greatest sacrifice, he understood, to go on when there was nothing else to hold onto except memories.

It had also been a nudge from his father to get on with it, Legolas smiled to himself. His father had always wanted a daughter. Times of war were fast approaching, and these snatches of happiness were probably the last they would get in a very long time. Yet, it also made him consider again and again. He would be on the forefront of those battle lines, leading the army as was his right, as was his duty. It was a risk both he and his father had accepted years ago. Idhthrael, on the other hand, whose heart was tainted with so much sorrow already, did not deserve struggling with the possibility that every battle he rode out to could be his last, did not deserve the pain of losing another loved one, did not deserve to be condemned to living a life of loving a dead elf.

These thoughts were what warred in his head. He did not doubt for a moment that she would make a good princess, she was brilliant, able to withstand those councilors and if she put some effort to it, people liked her – _maybe I am thinking too much_ , Legolas thought. But if he was to follow his heart, he had to know that it was the right thing to do, for himself, for her, and, he added heavily, for the kingdom.

He would talk things through with her, he decided, because she also had a say in all of this. There was still time.

* * *

Their father was surprised that they had not gone with Idhthrael on the hunt, but Elrond was more concerned about Legolas. The prince was late to the afternoon therapy session, and their father sent them on an errand to find him, which was fine for Elladan and Elrohir who also wanted to get directions. Asking the palace staff whether they had seen their prince was far easier than asking them if they had seen Idhthrael. Going through the winding hallways, the twins found themselves wrapped up in their own worry, which grew heavier as time passed.

Entering the gardens, their eyes scanned the blooming trees and bushes for any sign of golden hair. Sure enough, beneath an oak tree, Legolas was… sleeping. They looked at each other. It was actually a good thing that he got some rest, for they had been woken up at nights by the prince's uneasy dreams, and had in fact taken to sleeping in the chairs of his rooms so he would not have to wake up alone in the dark of night.

With a heavy breath, Elladan led Elrohir through the stone paths of the gardens, enjoying the sunlight and the fragrance of the flowers. They knew that this was the Queen's favourite place. Few visited it now, and they understood why he chose this place for solace.

"Legolas," Elladan gently murmured as he crouched in front of the prince, "wake up."

The blond elf jerked awake, eyes flying open, darting around until he realised he was safe, for his dreams had begun to uncover events best left forgotten. "What?" rather inelegantly, he asked, rubbing his eyes. Why were the twins here?

"You're late," Elrohir smirked, his standing figure looming over Legolas. " _Ada_ is looking for you." Reaching down to pull the prince up, he smiled. "But we need your help first."

Legolas frowned at them as they began to walk out of the gardens, still trying to gain his bearings. "Aren't you supposed to be hunting with Idhthrael?"

Elladan sent him an exasperated look. "We were supposed to, and she told us she would meet us at the gates this morning, but she never showed up."

"And we don't know where to find her," Elrohir finished for his brother as they flanked their friend, silently demanding for an answer.

Laughing, Legolas offered to show them to her place, as long as they took the blame for his extended lateness, _and any awkwardness that might ensue_ , he added to himself.

As they trudged through the woods, Elrohir couldn't help but ask, "why is it so far away from the palace?"

"It's still in the palace," Legolas explained, pushing away a branch from his face, "technically. Just on the outskirts of it. The owner of the smithy decided he wanted to actually wield the weapons he made, so he joined the army. I think he's a lieutenant, now. Idhthrael liked the fact it was far away from people, but still within the palace grounds."

"That sounds like her," Elladan agreed.

"What is she like?" the prince dared to ask, curiosity winning over his fear of the protective twins.

Elrohir smirked from behind Legolas. "Why do you want to know?"

"It's just that she's different when she's with you," he began. "And I would like to understand her better."

"Remember my warning, _mellon nin_ ," growled the younger twin.

Elladan walked faster so he was next to his friend. "I don't know, _muindor_. I think we can trust this elfling more than that snake." He smirked as Legolas sent a glare to him.

"I am only younger by – "

"Wait," Elrohir suddenly said, smile vanishing from his face. "Do you smell that?"

The other two elves froze, turning around, eyes scanning the trees for any threat. There _was_ a scent of blood, they realised, coming from further down the path. Cursing himself for not having brought any weapon except for a small knife hidden in his pocket, Legolas cautiously went on.

Pushing away branches and rounding the bend of the path, he froze again, the twins bumping harshly against his back, nearly making him fall.

In front of them lay Daechir's body, his face tilted on the ground, unseeing eyes staring right into theirs, a large pool of drying blood surrounding him. A bit further away, a smaller pool of elvish blood stained the ground too, and on the tree looming over it was a message that stopped the three elves' hearts.

It was Elladan who moved first, pushing past Legolas to reach Daechir's lifeless form. His hands hesitated before they moved the body slightly. A jagged wound went right through the elf's midsection, caused by a serrated knife. "Orcs. They were here, Legolas," he said in confusion. "I thought they didn't know where the palace was."

"They aren't supposed to," Legolas told his friend, mind reeling as he tried not to step onto the blood, looking for other clues. " _Ai, Valar_ , we have to tell my father." Picking up the arrow shaft he spotted on the ground, he raised it high. "It's an Elven arrow."

"Daechir's," Elrohir said as he came to Legolas, recognising the fletchings. Taking the arrow from him, he lifted the metal tip to his nose, quickly wrenching it away. "Elladan is right, _mellon nin_. There is orc poison on this arrow, and no one else would write such a message," he cursed as he nodded in the direction of the blood-stained tree, reading the words again. Anger seeped through him. "Daechir must have led them here, there's no other explanation."

"He must have been betrayed," agreed his brother. "He was stabbed from behind."

Dropping the arrow carelessly onto the ground, Legolas carefully stored away his emotions. They were of no use now, he had to think of his kingdom before himself, even if he felt his heart was tearing apart.

If the orcs knew where they were, they needed to make preparations. He remembered the army of hundreds of orcs at their borders. His cheek itched again. "There's still daylight. We'll head back to the palace, report to the King and send a scouting party of ten elves to track down the orcs." Legolas did not wait for them to comply, already breaking into a run back towards the palace, cursing the world for its cruelty. She was taken, there was no doubt, for who else would Daechir – who else would the orcs – call _Princess?_ Daechir must have told them about Idhthrael, and they must have been delighted to have a bait to ruin the royal family. What else would that threat be for? And the thing was, the bait worked. Legolas would go out there himself, injured or not, to hunt them down.

As he entered the hallways in a desperate search for his father, and the elves avoided their prince's mad run, he could not help but blame himself for this. If he had not tried so hard to get her attention, Idhthrael might not have gotten close enough to him for Daechir's jealous intentions to have done any serious harm.

He imagined the cruelty she would face at the hands of the orcs even as he pushed the doors to his father's throne room open, ignoring the guards who tried to make him calm down.

There was no calming down, though, the message in blood echoing in his vision as he turned his hopeless eyes towards his shocked father.

 _Have you ever heard your Princess scream?_

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


	20. Rationality

**Frostyhorse** \- and thank _you_ for the review :)

 **Guest** \- well... I can't promise that :P

 **alliesmiley2** \- I hope this satisfies you

 **yasminasfeir1** \- you should be scared... :D

 **Raider-K** \- hello! Thank you so much for all your reviews (they made me grin so hard) and you'll get more of that friendship... in a while... and Idhthrael is in distress, but she's definitely not a damsel. (And if you're in agony over her, then wonderful *evil laughter*) :D

 **CarelessMisbehaviour** \- yes, I love toying with your emotions :D

 **BlackWolf888** \- well, not exactly... it would just be reckless for him to do that, and he _is_ a prince after all. And I hope this ending doesn't count as a cliffhanger :P

Anyways, the updates might take a bit longer cause my laptop decided to crash yesterday and the next two chapters I've written was lost so I have to rewrite them :( I'll try keep within the every two/three days schedule, though. Your reviews are, as always, wonderful, and they motivated me to rewrite this chapter in less than an hour.

So, here's the chapter :)

* * *

Idhthrael woke up to a bucket of freezing, muddy water thrown in her face. Her hands were tied above her to a firm pole in the centre of the small camp, orcs standing around her in a circle, all of them leering, her toes barely reaching the ground.

The orc leader smiled at her, trailing a filthy finger down her cheek which made her recoil slightly in disgust as she spat at its looming figure. While she was frightened of what might happen, Idhthrael refused to show it, meeting her captor's eyes with fire in her own.

"You know, we don't need information from you," the orc whispered in her ear. "The elf prince will start looking soon enough."

"He's smarter than that," she spat back, though in her heart, that was what she feared. Legolas, who could barely hold a knife steady, might just decide to rush after her, and his blood would forever be on her hands.

Taking a knife from its belt, the orc raised it uncomfortably close to her eye, making her hard pressed not to flinch away. Any form of weakness would be manipulated by the creatures, that was what they excelled at. "What we need from you, little princess, is a scream."

 _Princess?_ she asked herself even as she replied, "you'll have to wait a very long time." Daechir must have told the orcs about her, of course he would have. Where was he anyways? She was quite inclined to give him lots of pain.

"Then we should start earlier," the orc's voice jerked her out of her musings.

A gasp tried to rise to her throat as the creature stabbed the knife into her midsection, but she bit her lip to stop it. They would get no sounds from her, she vowed, vision turning hazy while the orc twisted the blade, getting no satisfaction from her blank face. After several more twists without any outward reaction, the orc leader asked for a whip from another orc. Her lips were parted just a bit, now, as she tried to control her breathing, but still, no sound came out except her heavy breaths. She would not give them what they wanted. These little victories were what she could have, Idhthrael realised, when all else was lost.

And for now, as she saw the orc grow more frustrated, the smallest victories were enough.

* * *

" _Let me go_ ," he hissed angrily at Erthor who blocked his way to the armoury. Legolas could not afford any more delays, not when Idhthrael was out there being tortured by the orcs. Were they whipping her? Burning her? Or doing even worse to her? His own mind was haunted by his latest encounter with them, and he tried to push the elf out of the way.

"Legolas! When the King asked me to be your second he told me you were sometimes out of your mind, but he never warned me you would be _this_ idiotic," Erthor very nearly shouted at his prince. In moments like this he was granted authority over the prince because Thranduil knew how self-sacrificing Legolas was. Technically, it should only be used in battles to override Legolas' suicidal commands, but this was suicidal enough. "You can't go marching off after some orcs when you can't even fight an elfling, much less an orc."

Pushing back against his second in command, Legolas' voice was quiet, dangerous. "There is no time. When the search party is organised, the sun will have set and then it will be postponed until the morning, and she'll likely be dead."

Even though Erthor could hear the almost imperceptible hollowness of those last few words in his friend's voice, he could not let him go. There would be more damage done if he did. "Your father himself prohibited you from going."

"It was not a direct order," Legolas defiantly said, still grappling against the other elf, but the corridor was a small one, and Erthor was unwavering.

"Then _I'm_ giving you one. Your father gave me my position for a reason, Legolas," Erthor begged his friend to understand. "You know what your death would do your father, and right now, in your condition, you can't do anything to help her anyway."

Something crumpled inside Legolas. He stopped fighting, leaning instead on the wall for support. "And what am I supposed to do? By the time morning comes, they'll be too far gone."

"They took her for a reason, so she's going to be alive." _At least, I hope so,_ Erthor thought, trying not to let the helplessness in Legolas' eyes affect his decision. If it were Almarea who had been taken, he knew that he would be raging like his friend did.

And of course, Legolas knew what he was thinking. "What if it were Almarea? _Your_ love? Yes, they took her for a reason. They took her to get to me!" His voice cracked noticeably then, because the guilt came crashing down on him, and along with it, the helplessness of having an injured arm. He would not pity himself, though, while Idhthrael needed him, so he closed his eyes against the rush of overwhelming feelings. "I'm the best tracker here, you know that," Legolas whispered, knowing that his friend could hear him clearly. "Come with me, and I won't be alone."

"Legolas, you know I can't let you do that," Erthor said back. It hurt to see Legolas like this, but he was still healing. He would be of no use to her if he ran off only to die.

"Please, Erthor, I'm the best chance at finding her, and I can't let her die." _Not before I tell her everything I need to_. His eyes begged his friend in the dimming light. Night was falling, the realm was growing dangerous, yet he would face them if it meant she would be spared the torture of the orcs.

It was the desperation in Legolas' eyes which made him nod slowly. "I will arrange something, but you will not come."

"Erthor, who else if not me? Their trail will have grown cold by tomorrow morning, and I know the forest better than anyone," the prince pleaded.

"Us, we hope," came a voice from behind Erthor. Emerging from the shadows were Elladan and Elrohir, already carrying packs filled with provisions. "She's our sister, we were the ones who taught you how to track, _and_ we would like to keep _both_ of you safe."

* * *

Legolas clenched his fists as he watched the twins spur their horses to a gallop, aware of how closely Erthor stood next to him, in an attempt to make sure he didn't go back on his word. The King had made Legolas promise to stay, even when Legolas had begged to be allowed to go. While he knew that his father ordered him to stay out of love and fear of losing him, he also knew that if something happened to her, he would not be able to forgive himself. It would be a guilt he lived with his whole life, and yet as logic battled sentiment, he knew Erthor was right. He couldn't do anything to help her in his condition, he would be a liability to any search party sent out.

So Legolas stalked the corridors, his second in command silently following him, until he reached the doors he sought. Knocking at it, with the knowledge that the room's occupant must still be awake, Legolas waited.

The left door swung open to reveal Lord Elrond in a dressing gown and a book in hand. "Ah, Legolas. What can I do for you, _ernil nin?_ " There was a glimmer in the elf lord's eyes which told the prince that he already knew what he wanted.

Thrusting his arm which he had pulled out of its sling towards Elrond, Legolas met his knowing gaze with an adamant one. "Whatever it takes. I'll be patient, I'll follow your orders, I'll do _anything_. Just, please, Lord Elrond, help me heal." _Help me heal so I can somehow help her_. The unspoken words hung in the air and the older elf nodded kindly.

"There is no need for titles, you know that, _tithen pen_."

For once, Legolas actually smiled at being called little, because it was a familiar thing in a world that was threatening to crumble around him. He looked back to see Erthor still standing guard, though an encouraging smile now graced his friend's stern features. The twins were out there trying to find her, and the faster he healed, the faster he could actually be of some use.

After all, he could not just stay behind to wallow in self pity. If he did nothing while she was dying, no matter what his rational mind said, he _would_ live with guilt for the rest of his life.

And elves live forever.

* * *

 _Four days_. That was how long it took for the orcs to drag her to the Old Fortress, the one people had now begun to call Dol Guldur, the Hill of Sorcery, because of what darkness lay enchanted within its ruins. Every step was an agony for Idhthrael, who was dragged forwards by the ropes binding her bleeding wrists. She had so far only been whipped, and then her wounds cauterised by a white hot knife so she wouldn't bleed to death, so the orcs could have more fun.

It irked her that she had been stupid enough to be taken in the first place. She might have been able to find an idea to escape the orcs, especially when they had not searched her thoroughly enough, but after hours of being beaten during that first night, she had barely any strength left to breathe.

Her feet tripped over the stone steps, sending some debris into the air as the orcs behind her pushed her on, whispering threats of what they would do to her later on. The words chilled Idhthrael even as they reached the top of the stairs. A seemingly empty platform of stone greeted her, and she was pushed forward, the back of her knees kicked so she would kneel.

She could not stop a hiss of pain slipping through her teeth as her already bruised kneecaps impacted the stone harshly. Her head was still head high, though, when _it_ appeared.

Some sort of dark spectre surrounded by a reddish-orange glow, the malice radiating off of it making her jerk back instinctively. The orcs who stood around her looked scared of it, whatever it was. _This_ was their master, the one who had assembled an army of hundreds of orcs.

Suddenly a voice resonated through the air, spoken in the Black Tongue, making her recoil even more against her will. Of all the Children of Iluvatar, it was elves who were most sensitive to evil, and now that evil teared at her mind with brutal force.

 _My slaves wanted to hear you scream,_ it spoke within her thoughts, and she hunched over as she fought to resist, fought the pain ripping, tearing, destroying her head. Suddenly Idhthrael knew who this creature was.

"I refuse to give in to you, _Sauron_ ," she hissed his named like it was poison, struggling to simply maintain consciousness, not noticing the gleeful smiles of the orcs around her.

 _You will scream soon, and you will only stop when you have become mine_.

Another lash of pain tore through Idhthrael's mind, her body trembling from the assault. "I will never become yours," she panted through the haze settling around her vision.

Cold laughter boomed from the Shadow in front of her. It came closer, its presence making her nauseous as she fought to stay upright. _Small victories_ , she reminded herself, though all she wanted was just rest. Some peace and a dreamless sleep.

 _You are weak. You stand no chance of fighting me_. Again, fire burned through her mind, and this time, the pain of it made her fall forwards, her bound hands doing a clumsy job of preventing her from landing on her face.

Looking up at the dark figure with pure hatred in her eyes, she grinned at it, betraying none of the fear wrapping around her heart. "Perhaps," Idhthrael dared to say, "but I am smarter than you think."

* * *

 **Feedback welcome, but no flames please! :)**


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